


Destroyed

by wintersnight



Series: Fracture Verse and other things [2]
Category: Batman and Robin (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, What-If, alien invaders are douche canoes, multiverse!Dami, multiverse!Dick, multiverse!Jay, the insurgents are actually explained here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-26 02:57:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 49,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20382547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersnight/pseuds/wintersnight
Summary: A 'What-if' from my Fracture Verse. A few years ago I talked a bit about this with Travelfan, what would happen if the multiverse opened up and some other world Bats were clingy as hell because their Tim Drake die. For Fracture!Tim, this is sometime after that epic fight with the Insurgents but before the first chapter of Fracture. This was my take on it <3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Babe asked me to make Destroyed it's own thing, so here it is <3

He hasn't really been back to the Cave in at least two years, emergency bad guys notwithstanding. The call from B had been…creepy to say the least and Red Robin has no choice but to come back, step back into his old life for another catastrophe.

On the drive, he mentally steels himself for whatever might be there.

“I need you,” B had said starkly (which, holy shit, hadn’t it been a while since he’d hear anything even close to this). “Here. _Now_.”

"None of that answers my questions." He had argued, considered just staying the hell away since that's obviously preferred at this point (and he _gets_ that. Who wants the fake son, the stand-in, around to fuck with the true son's mentality?).

But in the end, B's voice had been so rough, something very _not cool_ under the bullshit, that he'd finally agreed to take a commercial flight. Even _that_ was an argument in time. So, the repurposed BatPlane still at Titan's Tower it was.

Now, back in Gotham for about fifteen minutes after a hell of a long hiatus out, and he's hitting the secret entrance by muscle memory rather than his real one, and the dark surrounds him like an embrace. The bats skitter, flowing around him in a wave of shadows.

He pulls up as close to the main command center as possible, refusing to park his bike back with the rest of the vehicles because this sure as hell isn’t going to take long. The Bats didn't want him here as much as he didn't want to be. At least they're all on the same page about something (finally).

Backs turn when he gets off the bike, pulling off his helmet. Red Hood, B, and…a taller Robin than he remembered. Damn, a _lot_ taller than he remembered the almost-fourteen year old (still taller than you, _demon brat_).

"All right. What the hell is the emergency?" His eyes behind the mask are all for the fucking tall as hell Dami in a grown version of his (HIS) Robin suit and that just blows his brain a little right there. The green tights, the boots, the belt… a slow burn of _what the fuck?_ hits his spine, and the expectation of that smirk before the mouth spews insults about his mother or something makes him tense subconsciously.

"What's going on?" He amends, staying out of arm's reach.

The Bats look at one another before pointed their gazes back to him.

"Timmy?" Dick's tone is slightly hoarse, and he's dressed as the Batman for tonight, sans cowl. "Timmy is it-?"

"It's him." The taller, older Dami is standing with fists clenching and loosening, but that voice, the face that could have been B in his younger years. With the fists clenched, Red is already planning his first moves for when the Robin comes at him.

"It's me,” he deadpans. “Glad we've come to that decision. What the hell happened to Damian?” (_Robin_) “Magic?"

"Multiverse." Red Hood replies, arms crossed tightly over his chest. It looks like he's hugging himself, and _what in the name of fuck happened?! _Red Hood not going for his gun? No knives? No kick to the face? Did he come to the right Cave entrance…? "Multiverse happened, Tim. Can you take off the cowl? Just so we know-"

"What? Like someone else is going to remember how to get here." He bites back a more scathing retort and throws up his fucking hands because _really_. Just, really.

He deactivates the security and pushes the cowl back, baring his face.

"Satisfied? What's the mission so I can get the fuck out of here." Because it had been a long few years for him to, hadn't it?

But Dami, this older, multiverse Dami just takes off at a run, slams into him, and Red almost completes a throw when his brain realizes…the kid is shaking, hugging him, and might even be…crying?

"Demon Brat? What the **_fuck_**-?"

He doesn't even get a chance because right there is Dick and Jason on his side and behind him, too many arms crushing him in… hugs.

His eyes must be HUGE.

"He's here," and that's another Dick Grayson, the one wearing the Nightwing suit, coming down the stairs. "They’ve got him already."

"Tt. Trust him to be competent only when necessary."

"Shut-up brat. Jealousy is a terrible color on you."

"Fuck you, Todd."

He's starting to get seriously creeped out now.

"Let me go and tell me what the hell is going on." The hard edge must jar the three holding on for dear life, and he can finally breathe a little, think a little, but none of them really move away. The tangle of arms fall, but the three are still right up in his space (wow, personal space bubble or what?), staring at him with something very un-Batlike in their expressions. Considering where he and the Bats have been for the past two years, it’s uncomfortable as hell.

"Tim. You are Tim Drake, right?" Jason's already got the domino off, staring down with green eyes.

"Yeah." Tim points a finger between them all, "just to venture a guess: multiverse Damian, Jason, and Dick, right?"

Discreetly wiping his eyes, Damian, older Damian, clears his throat, "yes. Timothy. This… this is not our world as you are obviously alive."

"And since Bruce is the Bat again." Jason fills in, staring down at Tim with…something strangely like happiness in his face (_what he wouldn’t give to see that on this universe’s Jason Todd_).

His brain kicks right over that thought. "Gotcha. I'm dead. B was probably not found lost in time, Dick kept up the Bat. Makes sense." Tim turns to slide through the space between other Damian and Jason. This universe's BatFam is watching by the big computer, apparently taking it all in because, well, multiverse.

"How far are you from getting them home?" He doesn't bother with pleasantries since, well, no one really gave a shit anymore, did they? Get the job done and move on, go back to wherever you were before this.

"Still nothing yet," Bruce without the cowl admits and even his face is creepily attentive all of a sudden, eyeing Tim like he's trying to remember something important.

"Send me the data you have. I'll start working in the Perch." He's already pulling the cowl back up and activating the security trap, turning away from the Bat Fam that really didn't need him anymore. Made it clear they didn't want him (and he’s gotten used to it, adapted. It’s fine now that he _gets it_).

"Tim," and that's B's hand on his shoulder, one that makes him automatically tense, ready to fight. More so because B didn’t call him _Red_ or _Red Robin_. He can’t even remember the last time Bruce, the Batman, called him by his name.

"Tim," Dick tries, "they…asked for you to, you know, be here while we try to find a way to get them back."

"Then they can come to the Perch," he bites off, pulling out of the hold. “Plenty of room.” The _I’m getting the fuck out of your Cave_ doesn’t really need to be said, right?

This universe's Damian sneers at him, "good. You don't belong here _anyway_, do you, Drake-"

Yeah, he's used to this. Or he should be by now, right? But it isn't him that shuts up Demon Brat. The older Damian delivers a fucking _stunning_ upper cut to his younger counterpart and _still_ side-steps the inevitable blood spurt. Fuck. The last time someone broke Robin’s face…well, it had been Tim hadn’t it?

"You arrogant little bastard!" The older version spits out ruthlessly. "Spend a day, a single _day_ in our world without a Tim Drake. Then you will understand the meaning of **destruction**."

Said Tim Drake throws his hands up because oh he is so _not dealing with this_. Nope. He's going to get a migraine and he's already been awake way too long and just, no. Nope. Hell. No.

And the smaller Damian is just spitting some blood, you know, glaring up at his other version while Nightwing Dick kneels by him, hand on his back, Hood laughing a little, and B glaring with disapproval while the other Red Hood holds the taller Damian back, and Dick Batman tries placating this universe’s Bats. Just too much for him. Red just starts ranting a little to himself and gets the hell away from this fuckery. He climbs right back on his bike and tears out of the Cave without looking back.

**

The two Dick Grayson's are likewise drinking coffee served by Alfred. Older Damian and Jason going for tea while the properly assigned Damian and Jason seethe.

The other Dick just waves a hand, "none of us believed him. He was right, the whole time. Bruce was alive, lost in time somewhere and we-I- just let him go off to try solving the mystery. He got to Iraq and somehow got involved in the League of Assassins business, an enemy of theirs."

The others slump a little as that Dick takes a breath, "we…we never got the full story of what happened. The three assassins that were supposed to be guarding him were slaughtered. Tim… When the Pit didn't work for whatever reason, and Ra's brought his body back, he was… He'd fought hard. We could tell, but his spleen was ruptured, he bled out too fast for him to get anywhere. Later, when all his things came back, he'd left clues and we did find our Bruce from where Darkseid sent him. He… He didn't take the mantle back when he heard what happened." Dick's hand goes to the newer but still oddly the same Bat emblem on his chest.

Bruce takes it all in, letting a very tired, worn Dick Grayson tell the story. Still, he _knows_ this isn’t his oldest son, but the man in him takes in the utter defeat wafting off this man like an aura unto itself.

"Your Tim," the older version of Damian begins, "how did he survive?"

The Bats in their correct universe exchange a glance.

"He- he never-" and the current Nightwing just trails off.

"You mean you never asked," the other Jason Todd sneers. "Fuck." He looks to his Dick and Damian, "you see this shit? Maybe he wasn't meant to live because this is what happens if he does."

"Jay-" other Dick starts.

"He may have a point, Grayson," other Dami cuts in. "Did you see him? He's... It’s worse than we could have predicted. He doesn't live at the Manor, his Batman has deserted him.” (The older Dami completely ignores this universe’s Bruce and Dick pointedly flinching). “He probably hasn't slept or ate in days. He has no family any longer."

"He does have us!" Jay protested weakly. "Pretender already-"

"You fucking douche." Other Jason snarls. "I stopped calling him that years ago, long before he ever died. He’s my _fucking brother_, man."

Jay just stares at his counterpart, “yeah? Then why is he _dead_?”

The other Jason is up in a blink, other Dick obviously holding him back from coming across the table.

“Stop this,” other Dami snarls, “it will solve _nothing_.”

Other Jason just stares with that creepy Bat stillness, a promise that if he has the opportunity, the two Red Hoods are going to have the showdown of the fucking _year_.

"That also means the Tim Drake here stopped the invasion," other Dick cuts across the mounting tension, drawing his brothers' gazes. "The Insurgents didn't take control of this world. Get it?"

A whole new light enters other Jason and other Dami.

"We can ask him how he did it," Dami whispers. "He can still help us save our world."

And the Bats from the current universe exchange a glance.

"Never heard of-" Jay starts.

"The Titans," B interjects. "The JLA was…notified of an attempt the Titans handled. It was called-"

"The Insurgent Crisis," other Dick filled in. "Fuck. Most of the Titans were slaughtered in the initial fight. Superboy survived to warn the JLA, but…it was already too late."

Other Dami makes a 'there you go' hand gesture. “Our world is overrun. Only a few thousand of us remaining to fight and if this Tim Drake has insight on how to beat them, we could take back our world.”

"…perhaps Drake should be here after all." The younger Damian allows. "If it is as you say-"

The elder Damian utters a strained laugh. "I will say it again, so you can believe me, but come to our world for a single day. Just one."

The younger sighs a little and in his counterpart's face, there is weight behind his words and the battle worn soldiers sitting before them. The scars, the more armored and weaponized suits, the air of constant fighting, all of it added up to more than the normal Gotham baddies, more than the off world missions and attacks.

This universe's Dick pulls a Batcomm out of his pocket and stands away from the table.

**

Red looks at the comm on the desk and fucking ignores it. His cell phone next.

Then it's Kon's text: _dude. Call Nightwing or that guy might go postal on my ass. Seriously, I do not want to say hello to a Bat-fist full of kryptonite. K?_

Well, Dick was Batman.

_Shit._

Dials his phone, puts it on speaker, keeps running algorithms.

Dick picks up on the first ring. "Lame, little brother-"

"Don't call me that.” He snaps without even thinking (Dick hasn’t called him that in so long, too long for it not to be anything other than lip service or muscle memory at this point). “What do you need?"

Significant pause because _I'm your coworker, asshole_, _not your brother_.

"I'm running the numbers right now, and there's a lot of universes. It's not going to be quick."

"I… Tim-"

"96 hours maybe. That's the best guess. I'll call B when I'm close."

"Fuck, Tim really-"

"Stop threatening my team." He adds for good measure. "I'm here doing my part."

"**Stop**. **Talking**." Ah, there's the Batman tone when Dick's about twenty seconds from that flawless spinning back kick. "Thanks. I'm going to need some face-to-face time to even just _deal_ with what you just said to me. And that shit is going to happen, Timmy. Like movie nights and cuddles and fucking hot cocoa and train-surfing forever, but right now I need some input."

Blinking a little stupidly _fifty-six hours since the last cat nap_, Tim waits in silence because really, at this point, fuck Dick Grayson.

"Still-?"

"Yes."

"Oh. So, the other universe guys need to ask you about a Titan's mission."

"Put them on." And the _I’d rather talk to them than you_ doesn’t need to be said.

Through speaker phone, he hears the thing clatter somewhere.

"Timothy," and older demon sounds really different because there’s a whole lot of not-hate and disgust in that tone.

"Dami. What do you need?" He picks out the background noise, B talking to one of the Dick's, shuffling at the table. No echo of the Cave.

"Information on the Insurgent Crisis that also occurred here."

And…fuck. Fuck. Ask him how his last year of being Robin went. That would be easier than this.

"The report is in the JLA database-"

"It is tastefully vague and unspecific. Congratulations." Other Dami comes back, but it's not the usual sharp-edge.

"Are you really trying to be funny? I'm shocked."

"Forgive me. I've been around Grayson too long,"

Not one, but two affronted "heyyy!" in the background. He doesn’t laugh.

"Tim, our world was not successful in the Crisis. There are a few thousand freedom fighters left. Us included. Your plan of action may be invaluable to helping us free our world." Other Dami just lays it all out.

And shit if that just doesn't-

"The Titans-?" And even he could hear the utter hopelessness in his tone because someone else had to have figured it out. Right?… **_Right?_**

"No… I am-I am sorry, Tim. Only Conner Kent, Superboy, survived."

And even though it's not his team, his team won, it's still a blow.

"Fuck," he says very gently.

"Yes," and other Dami is softer, more something that Tim doesn't even know how to handle at that moment.

He sighs audibly, "I'll call the team. No way this is happening on the phone."

"Timmy," and it's Dick but the subtle darkness in his tone, so Other Dick… "We appreciate-"

"I get it. It's fine. You three, meet me at 24th and Cypress. The Penthouse. I'll gather everyone while the calculations are running. Maybe you'll get insight before we get you home."

"We'll be there," and Other Jason seem genuinely pleased about something, something that must be important.

Tim doesn't bother saying goodbye. His to-do list just got longer.

**

And all the Bats showed up and he has no idea why. Sure, the multiverse versions wanted the deets because (_fuck, the Insurgents won, _his heart started racing at the initial realization) world saving, but this universe's BatFam…well, whatever.

He's already got the new costume on by the time they get to the Perch anyway, only saving the domino for last. He's reviewing the current data when bodies just start sliding through the windows on both sides of his penthouse. Current Bats on the right side, multiverse Bats on the left. Doesn't matter, they all get scanned anyway.

Tim drains his last swallow of bitter coffee, one hand bringing up holograms that will soon be his team. Both Red Hoods have a domino underneath, and it's fucking strange to see Nightwing and Batman with the same build and pose side-by-side while B stands by Other Dick's shoulder: both Batmen with very _different_ costume designs.

The domino goes on and Tim becomes Red, the Titian's Red; he taps the comm in his ear once, and the cloudy pictures take on members of his team. Superboy, Wonder Girl, Kid Flash, Raven, Beast Boy. They're dressed to the nines because they recognized _the call_.

"Everyone." He greets his people.

A barrage of greetings would make him grin if the Bats weren’t here, and he really needs to get back after this round of shenanigans is _over_.

"We've got multiverse company requesting Storytime." A nod over his shoulder has the team's attention.

"Holy shit," Kid Flash says immediately. "Multi-Bats!"

"Indeed," Raven manages to sound amused.

"They need details… On the Insurgents Crisis." And he pauses a little because yeah. Cassie already looks sick, and the usual rigmarole starts.

BB starts with a barrage of questions to the Other Bats concerning what they already knew. Kid wants to know if they still have chili dogs in their universe. Cassie remains quietly horrified in her own experiences (probably; again, sorry Cassie) while Raven wants a list of telepaths that could be a powerful asset in bringing down the Mind Field. Kon just shakes his head and claims how much _almost dying_ happened that day (he gives Red an arched eyebrow, pointedly).

"All right," Red finally calls, and the Titans quiet. It’s time to work out when they knew, start making theories. "Approximately eight thousand freedom fighters, half metas if that many. The Insurgents have had six months to create bio-tech suits to deal with Earth's habitat. The Queen probably isn't on world, not like it matters. Take out the main flux of their hive, and they all fall anyway. If they still have the same weaknesses-"

"Wait, whoa," the Other Red Hood has both hands out, standing to face Red and the virtual wall of Titans. "You're telling me the Queen ain't the way to take them down?" Without the helmet on, his voice cracks just enough to tell.

Red gives a half-shrug. "In our fight, no. We needed to hack their bodies and their minds to infect the rest. They function as an integrated network on a telepathic level. The Queen is their figurehead monarch, she directs their actions, but she isn’t the main control board. They won’t just fall if you take her out."

The older Damian as Robin (as _him_, in _his_ Robin uniform) makes a choked noise.

"That was my initial assumption too,” Red placates, “I had to figure it out while the others were trapped in the mind field. Raven and Miguel could shield me to a point, but it was enough to get into their, uh for lack of a better word, _network_."

"Holy shit…" The other Jason looks sick, the color draining out of his face around the domino. The guy's knees give out almost abruptly. Red, by some automatic response, catches him under the arm with a shoulder.

Other Dick as Batman jumps up and the two get him back to the sofa.

"Do you…do you know what this mean?" Other Robin is up pacing now. "We may have a way-"

"I can't say for sure this is helpful," Red counters, taking the other Bats down a notch. He motions to the Other Robin, obviously older than the current, almost-14-year-old, Robin. "There are obvious differences in your universe. This could be useless information to you if there are more significant differences we know nothing about. Or if the Insurgents have adapted to your world more than I can realistically predict. I would have to…" And Red pauses, sighing through his nose.

"Red," Kon starts in warning.

Kid Flash is leaning closer to the screen, his expression hard even with the KF mask, "**_dude_**, _think_ about this, okay? We won't be there-!"

"Others will be," Red cuts across them in his 'this shit isn't up for debate' tone.

"We need to talk about this, Red," BB starts with his usual attempt at diffusing volatile situations.

"Nope." Red turns back to the screens with three beat-to-shit universe travelers behind him. "They won." Is all he needs to say to the Titans to get the point across because there are too many scenarios that could have made it true in _this_ world; if he had been fully trapped in the Mind Field with the rest of the team, if he hadn’t been good enough to hack an alien species, if he had been too slow figuring out how their network worked to maintain their actions, their bodies… It could very well be their world overrun. Red _owed_ these travelers this chance at freeing themselves.

"I'm on my way to Gotham," Kon is already standing in the hologram pane.

"No. No one else." The tone again. "I'll have what I need to work with. O will be there and a few others. I'm not putting any of you in this path again. My call."

He doesn't see the Bats from his universe exchange glances, a whole lot of _what the hell are we missing out on?_

"The **_fuck_**, man-" KF being KF.

"Tim, you can't-" BB trying to placate.

"Dude, do you even remember what they almost did to you, to us!?" Kon is getting angry,

"You can't go alone," Raven is trying to be as sensible.

"And, all of you will be needed here, to defend our world. Got it? BB and Cassie are fronts while I'm gone."

"You can't," this time it's Other Dick, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. And…he doesn’t flinch away by instinct because this—with the Other Dick, it’s like the last two years hadn’t happened and he could actually look the guy in the face again…"Red, you _can't_. There's no way we can guarantee your safety or return. We can't even guarantee our own."

Even with their world torn apart, this Other Dick is more concerned…Red just stares up at him from behind the domino, plans already starting to form.

"And I can't guarantee the original plan will work." Red counters. "The only way to know is if I can hack them again. For that to happen, _I_ have to be there."

And the Other Dami is right up beside his Dick. "Regardless, you cannot accompany us to our world." The Robin is stone-faced, more grave than he'd even seen B. "We already have the death of our Red Robin on our conscience. We will not have yours as well."

And well, he's got nothing for that, has he? Not yet anyway.

Red eases both hands up with a hard sigh. "Fine. I'll give you the plans and the Titans can fill you in on their parts…then, I’m going to get tech together for you, like _everything I possibly can_. Get it? You’re not going back there without something you can use to fight back."

Other Jason moves up too, that tired but genuine grin on his face, and the three Other Bats are looking at him with something they may forgotten they had.

**

And Tim.

After the Titans sign off, he doesn't answer shit from his world's Bats when they try staring him down (really? Like that's going to work at this point) and demanding answers about the original crisis (_we had it handled fuck you very much_). Rather he goes back to his system calculating and ignores Dick trying to plead with him to come back to the Manor, the Cave to work.

None of them reply to his terse, "It's not my place. Thanks anyway."

The staring, however, gets old fast.

"I have work to do." And he stops after that because he’s had plenty of time to get the point (_replacement, stand-in, weakness in the Bat-line_).

All the Bats go, and he can breathe again.

He sleeps for eight solid hours while the numbers crunch and the Bats, along with the JLA, get the teleportation device built and somewhat calibrated, waiting for his final calculations.

When Tim wakes up, he starts with fabrication of tech, as much as he can get made in such a short amount of time. He calibrates his machine in the basement to start making force field generators to avoid detection. Then he gathers all his old reports from the Insurgents, everything on his ghost drive that the JLA and the rest of the team didn't know existed, especially the contingency plans should they ever come back.

He has to smile because someone(s) came to his Perch while he was sleeping, someone that made a fresh pot of coffee and left food in his fridge. It had to have been one of the visitors because really.

Why would this world's Bats give a shit?

Once his files are gathered, and the machine in the basement is churning out tech, he starts the set-up, creating a program that had specific purpose, his coding flawless. It has to be.

While he's drinking the coffee and finishing up, he gets another visitor.

"Nice try. I was a Bat too, you know."

Other Dick in his more armored Batman suit is hardly more than a shift in shadows.

"Sorry, kind of." He says without coming out.

"I'm sure you are. I appreciate the coffee though."

"Ah, that was Jaybird."

"Hm. And the food?"

"Dami."

"Odd but okay."

"Not…really. For our Tim anyway. He got close with Jay and Dami."

Tim slowly blinks. Just blinks.

Other Dick laughs a little, a rusty sound, nothing like this universe's. Tim has a sick feeling the Dick Grayson in front of him hasn't laughed, really laughed, in a long time. With the Insurgents taking over, he supposed it made sense.

"I could tell," finally out of the shadows, the other Dick lowers the cowl. "You, uh, weren't…_happy_ to see us when you thought we were yours."

_I was once_. Tim looks back to the screen, "nope. They aren't really happy to see me either unless there’s a situation."

"What…happened? Can you answer me honestly?"

"Why? The other Dick give you the run around?"

And Batman Dick’s expression changes, gets harder, angrier. "He was visibly upset when I asked why you weren't in the family anymore."

Tim chuff an unfunny laugh. "I'm sure."

"You two didn't…make amends after you found Bruce?" It’s hard to ignore the desperate edge to that voice because this Dick wants to believe things would have happened differently in his world.

And, wow, that’s a hard one, too isn’t it? "No. I'm not his little brother anymore…maybe I never was, but it’s fine at this point.” And the _it didn’t used to be fine_ is all there for the Other Dick to pick up. “I'm the leader of the Titans and CEO of Wayne Enterprises… But I'm not a Bat. Haven't been for a long time."

"Did he really take Robin from you?"

Pause at the keyboard because here’s another thing he doesn’t want to look back on. "Yes, he did. It's his right, I guess. Well, your right too, you know? The name was from your mother in the first place. You were the first."

"He should have _known_ better. He, I, Robin was taken from us both. He should have talked to you like I…"

_Ah, another of those subtle differences_. “Your Tim gave it up by choice."

"He…I saw him as my equal. We talked it over until we both agreed he couldn't be my Robin. Jason offered him Red Robin in compromise and he was…honored really, to take over the name."

And Tim…Tim just blinks again, hand automatically going to the old scar on his leg, the one his Jason gave him after finding out Tim had taken Red Robin…

Other Dick is kneeling by his chair and the eyes are much different, older, tired. And that small smile is so damn familiar that for the first time in years, Tim just wants…

_Fuck it._ The smaller man leans forward and wraps his arms around those shoulders, let's himself hug this Dick. Maybe it was for himself, but maybe it was because he could venture a guess at how long it might have been since the guy got held. For whatever reason, it takes the other man a few moments to lift up his arms and embrace Tim, to hold on _tight_.

"It's going to be okay," Tim finds himself saying, "I'm going to give you everything I've got. It's good intel. You can make weapons, make plans. You can fight back."

That rusty laugh comes out again, making something in Tim's chest seize tighter.

"Haven't had hope in too long, Timmy."

"…I'm going to send you back everything I can, Dick. I'm going to put everything I know to use."

And those deep eyes finally look up at him, so like and unlike his Dick Grayson, the same color and depth but without the lightness and laughter. This man isn't lying. He's lost hope.

Tim pulls this other Dick against him and holds on.

**

He has to drive back to the Cave rather than take a bike because wow, he has so much crap for the Others.

Five hours ago his systems cracked the final code, matching the readings from the BatComputer from the moment the three appeared. His fabrication hadn't been complete so he fudged the time a little, the Bats in their right universe could deal.

After parking, he's toting the heavy as shit duffle bags, backpack, and suitcase up the walkway where they, all of them, are waiting.

He sets the huge load down by the Bat made transporter device and sighs a little, loosening his tie but leaving his jacket buttoned. B turns from the computer, but Tim's not here for a fireside chat. He pulls the flash drive from his jacket pocket and nudges the Batman to the side.

"Tim-"

"It's the correct calibration. I triple checked."

"I'm sure it is, Tim, but I'd like you to stay for a while after-"

"A case?"

"Ah no-"

"Some other bad guy?"

"Nothing work or vigilante related."

"Then no. I need to get back to my team." His face lights up with his encryption, calibrating the portal. Lights flip on, a low grade hum starts.

"Tim?" The cowl is removed because, yeah, he just said no to Batman.

And he's already moving back to the portal, tapping at the settings, rechecking everything, adding a few lines of code. B moves with him, apparently with something else to say.

"You haven't been to the Manor for-"

"I'm right here, aren't I?"

"Stay for dinner then."

"No thanks," he returns without looking up.

"Then patrol with me." Changing it up, are we?

"You have a Robin to patrol with."

"Tim-" now there's the constipated look.

"I don't know what this is about. Everything is fine the way it is now." But even he can hear the hard edge to his voice.

"Is it?" The Bat challenges.

Tired of this shit since _he’s_ the one that comes whenever they call, Tim turns to face the man in the suit. "I've adapted," he starts flatly. "I do the job, take care of WE, and go home." And home isn't Gotham anymore, at least Bruce recognizes it now.

Those deep blue eyes turn hard for a second.

"I'm not a Bat anymore, so you can skip the lecture, use it for your own people. Once this is done, I'll be out of your hair until the next big crisis or until you need an IT guy." (_How did you not know that? How did you not realize you’re the reason I stay away?_)

And that, that shakes the Batman out of whatever he might have said, those eyes wide and churning with…something. Something Tim doesn’t have time to figure out. Voices coming down the steps interrupt the awkward as the current and other Bats make their way down.

Other Jason hit the floor first, looking at the equipment with a grin. "You brought us some toys Baby Bird."

Tim just blinks for a second because yeah, it had been a minute since he heard that…

"Yeah. I did. I promised I’d give you everything I have." He waves a hand at the cache of bags. Other Dick and Dami look at him with fondness that makes him a little shaky. Belatedly, he wishes for the cowl or domino instead of CEO wear, oh well, part of the plan anyway.

The Other Bats are silent while he kneels by the bags, pulling out the first round of discs, "these will mask your mind, hopefully, block the Mind Field trap so just watch out for the barriers. It should also deflect their scanners, but have O re-check them incase I’m wrong about the calibrations."

He stands to place one on Dick's chest, below the Bat insignia, "just like this," and he presses the center to activate it. The glowing yellow disc lights up the shadows of the Cave.

"Okay, next" and Tim goes through the tech with a short explanation and demonstration, the other Bats giving him their full attention. It's somewhat unnerving since none of his Bats had given him more than an errant thought in the last two years, but it didn't stop him. They would need to know how things worked (maybe).

"Again," he finishes, "this is all calibrated for what I know of the Insurgents here. You may need to reprogram this stuff if things are different or more advanced. Don’t take any unnecessary chances," and he pegs the Other Hood with a _look_.

The guy gives him a peace sign and a shit-eating grin before fitting on his helmet.

Too soon and the three are already hefting the duffles, Other Dami and Dick letting them rest under their capes. His backpack is left unnoticed by the side.

And Other Dami, wearing Tim's Robin costume in what he claimed as remembrance (that just made him stare at the kid for a second with too many feelings running through him), puts a hand to his shoulder with a half-smile.

"We cannot express our gratitude, Tim. For everything."

He smiles, actually smiles at this Dami, the one that was his fucking _brother_ (what he’d always hoped), and instead of words, he steps up to the demon brat and folds his arms around the kid, holding on.

Doesn't even phase the Other Dami, who just wraps his arms around Tim as well.

"I miss you," the kid says low.

"The coordinates are in the bag…in case you ever want to come back." Tim confides.

The kid chuffs a laugh at him, "you and your contingencies."

"Yeah, right? Some things don't change."

And right behind Dami is Other Jason, who doesn't even hesitate for his hug. "I'm sorry…for everything." The Red Hood says low, his arms tight.

"The other me…got it, Jay. At the time, you needed it. He let you do what you needed for the right reasons, okay? No regrets for either of us."

"Tim…"

"It's true. If he was like me, then you were our Robin, not just Gotham's." And he doesn’t really give a shit if this universe’s Bats or Red Hood heard it; none if it would matter to them anyway, so it was fine. The one that really needed it is right here, with his arms trembling slightly around Tim, the one that hadn’t even gone for a weapon the first time laying eyes on him.

One more squeeze and Hood steps away because that is, hopefully, what he needed to hear.

Finally, Other Dick, and Tim’s heart finally eases a little as the guy engages octopus hold, folding his taller frame down. And this, this is the guy he can call _brother_.

"I'm sorry I can't do more." And the lies just roll off without a hitch.

"Don't say that, little brother."

The current Dick flinches when Tim allows it, doesn't correct his multiverse self.

"I wish-"

"It's okay, Timmy. It’s more than we could have hoped for.” And those arms tighten more, hold on with a desperate strength. “Thank you. _Thank_-_you_."

Tim just nods against the side of the cowl and tightens his arms too.

The portal glows green gently, a reminder of _closing soon_.

Other Dick finally sighs and pulls back. "All right. It's that time." Tim just nods.

He follows the three to stand by the portal, watching Other Dami and Jason give him a last wave before they step through.

Now, with the acting. "Dammit! Wait, Dick!" Tim snaps, keeping other Dick back a second. Tim digs the wrist computer out of his pocket and holding it out, “here! This…”but he’s snagging the backpack behind his back by the strap with the other hand, coming so close to hold the computer out. Dick reached for it too late because Tim just flicks his wrist and tosses it into the circle of light.

"What-?"

"Oops," Tim grins and jumps in behind Other Dami.

"Tim!" He hears before his sense fade and Other Dick is right behind him, just like he knew would happen.

Contingency plans indeed.

**

"Tim!" Nightwing Dick Grayson yells as his multiverse counterpart dives in after him as the circle of light closes.

The second it does, the BatComputer lights up with programming and a countdown flashes in brilliant red until the portal activates again.

"Shit!" Hood stares at the programming language, "he planned this. Little asshole planned it all along."

The Batman's face is closed, angry. "Countdown set for four days from now."

In the Perch, Tim's system sends out prerecorded messages to his network of superheroes, giving a brief description of the Insurgents and a summary of the universe ruled by them. The message has his plan and the time frame for preparation.

**

Robin and Hood are pretty shocked if the eyebrows and altered cursing are any indication. Tim just grins at them, stripping off his jacket and shirt to show his Red Robin suit underneath. A domino, his harnass and utility belt, wings and pack out of the backpack he’s carried through, and he's Red Robin by the time Dick/Batman is winding up in his impressive lecture (you’re good, Other Dick, but B is the _master_ of guilting).

"Yes, I get it." Red finally cuts through, peering around the mouth of the alley, looking at the destruction all around them, taking in the abandoned streets of Other Gotham. "You can't control my decisions, B. I do. So, yada, yada, oh my, I suck. Wow, do we expect anything else? Okay? We've got work to do, so we'll jump right to the point."

He's already picked up his wrist computer to start taking readings of his new surroundings.

Yup, this is still Gotham. Just, _holy shit_ Gotham.

"Tim," and it's Dick's helpless tone when he's got nothing.

"My call. My risk," and Red turns Robin around enough to take out the discs from the duffle on his back and shove them on everyone's chests, including his own under the harness, and activate them.

A spotlight hits the street close to them, a moment of _time to test shit_. Robin grabs his arm, shoves him back against the dirty alley wall he vaguely recognizes as close to Crime Alley and his old theatre. The kid covers his body as much as he can, shielding Red Robin.

The hands on his arms, B and Hood's are painfully tight as they flatten at his sides. The three hold their breath, and the light passes over them without even pausing.

Robin turns to him with wide lenses. "How-?!" He starts in a hard whisper to the others.

"The discs hide your brainwaves, remember? It deflects their scanners." Red whispers back. "Okay, get me to your base. We've got a war to plan."

**

The bunker under the destroyed remains of Wayne Tower is still pretty damn impenetrable, no surprise there. Dick has closed off the passage to the Cave last year when they got Bruce back from time because the guy had apparently been very fucking _far from okay_.

O uttered a cry when she saw him behind Robin.

"Alive?"

And her tone is so broken he hates to say: "Babs…sorry. Multiverse Tim." But he removes the domino to look at her with bare face.

She wheels over and reaches for him anyway, and Tim bends down to wrap both arms around her tightly, cupping the back her head when her shoulders start shaking. They both pretend she's not crying. He doesn’t let go for a second, breathing against the top of her head.

Finally she pulls back, and Tim looks around to ignore her wiping her eyes.

Meanwhile the Bats are laying the duffle bags and case on work benches.

"Why would you come here?" She finally asks, wheeling over to the equipment. "Didn't they tell you what we're up against?"

"Yeah," Tim starts, checking his wrist computer and the new readings. "The Insurgents didn't get this far in my world. We, the Titans, were able to stop them."

Now O's eyes are HUGE. “You stopped them before they got this far?”

“We had to.” he shrugs, “I had a plan.”

Dami just looks at him with a sneer, and isn't that more like the demon brat he knew.

"Do not let him fool you, Barbara. It was nearly suicidal. Not a plan."

"It worked," Tim shrugs unconcerned. "I had to get onto their mental mainframe to figure out how to take them out. Programming the neural virus was a bitch to do on the fly while I was half trapped in memories but, you know, all good. I was a Bat, right?" He takes his other hard drive out of his backpack, unloading the hurriedly packed supplies on the workbench. Laptop, extra suit, some gadgets, a mini generator to keep his tech charged (in case they had no power or something since, you know, apocalypse right?), couple power bars, and a tin of his fave coffee. _Voilà_.

He turns to O's shocked face, "we'll go over it all," he promises. "We've got a war to plan before the next portal to my world opens and hopefully, our forces triple." He shrugs again.

Dick, now without the cowl, is staring, "that's what you were doing with five extra hours?!"

Tim just grins in reply.

Jay throws back his head and laughs, "Jesus Baby Bird, missed the shit out of you, you know."

"Hey man, as long as you promise not to slit my throat, feel free to traverse time and space to crash on my couch and mooch my cereal. ’Kay?"

"Fucking righteous, Timmer's." Jay holds out a fist for Tim to bump. He does, grinning like mad because he would do everything for this in his own Jason. To have this comradery.

Dami shakes his head with a sigh, "honestly, Timothy, encouraging him like this. For shame," but the kid is grinning under the domino.

"Aw, who else would, Dami? The guy's like a cat without a ball of string."

And that makes all of them laugh, the sound echoing in a place where laughter had long been left behind.

**

Vic, the alternate universe Vic, is still staring at him with a wide eye and mouth hanging open. It's been like ten minutes, dude, let’s move on.

"Okay, Cyborg, man. Now it's creeping me out."

The League member blinks hard and seems to shake himself. "My bad, dude. Really, uh. Yeah. So…?"

"Taking on the Insurgents," Tim reminds him with a half-smile. "Got a war to plan and four days to do it, Vic."

"Right. You took 'em down in your universe and stuff, right?"

"Yup. Hardest fight in my memory, but we managed."

"And you and your Titans got caught in their Mind Field, so you could actually hack into their neural net and plant a virus to kill their hive."

"Right on one."

"And now you brought some of your tech to do this again."

"Mostly right." Tim gestures again to the older Robin. "Obviously there are differences between worlds. Anomalies. Before I can even start reprogramming my tech, I have to hack them again. Then get my systems calibrated to take them down on a world-wide scale. Some of it can be done before the big battle, some of it will have to be done during while they are distracted somewhat. I can fight my way through their main ship _if_ Earth’s forces can put a pretty good show."

Vic blows out a sigh, "woo, man. Don't ask for much, do you?"

"Heh. For right now, I just need a super-fast meta that can move me from base to base so they don't catch on in time. The rest is up to me. Once I have a sample of their coding and design, I can get to the real work."

And Vic blinks, "I've got someone in mind, but I have no idea how he's even going to _deal_ with this."

"They… Told me. Kon is the only one that survived."

"Yeah," and Vic's images wavers slightly when his old school encryption to keep under the proverbial radar hitches to the next sequence. Red can already see it.

"He's…been in a bad place since then. No one's been able to reach him, not even Supes."

Tim stares, calculating. Seeing him could do irreparable harm…or it could give Kon back what he needed to move on, to fight again. When he lost the guy in his universe…yeah, it had been shit, hadn’t it?

"I can't promise anything, Vic. When he died…I was insane, he was my best friend and I couldn't save him, so I don't even-"

"Oh. _Oh shit_. They didn't tell you…? Ah." And now the guy looks very uncomfortable. Even his bionic eye is looking away.

"Tim," Dick just frowns, "our Tim and Superboy were a…_thing_."

Slow blink time. "A thing?" He repeats it slowly since _maybe he misheard_.

"Yes," Dami confirms, "after our Timothy and Batman-"

"Whoa, **_what_** now?!" The lenses are up so they can see how slightly horrified his eyes are.

"Me," Dick specifies, "not B."

Now there's…Ah…

"I would so high five myself if I could." He murmurs to himself, "just, _wow_. Okay, so there’s that and…” Red just uses a hand to erase whatever he’d been about to say. “Back to the matter at hand. We have no idea how Kon might react to seeing me, so maybe someone else…?"

After a moment of consideration, Vic shrugs, "Supes is off world trying to rally support for Earth. Superboy is going to be your best bet here, Red."

And Red sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose. "All right. What do I need to do to contact him?"

At that, Vic grins. "Easy, Red. Go outside where it's somewhat safe and call for him. He'll come. In the meantime, I'm going to put out the wave for every fighter out there to get in contact so we can get the plan moving. I'll be in touch." The JLA member gives a two fingered salute before the screen goes dark.

And Tim is at a loss, turning slowly to the Bats still staring at him.

Dami doesn't even let the awkward set in but just throws up his hands. "Babs and I are leaving. You two, do not make him regret coming here." He wheels her around abruptly, taking her out of the communications room, and her expression is decidedly not happy (some things remain the same).

Tim crosses his arms and waits.

"Ah," Dick takes the cowl off for it. "When you turned sixteen… You came to us."

"Us?"

Dick and Jay exchange a glance.

"Oh…_Oh_. 'Us' meaning _you two_… Wow. That's wow." And yeah, he would super high five himself. **_Twice_**. Dick Grayson _and _Jason Todd…just, wet dream of _his fucking life_ before his relationship with the Bats went to shit.

"A few months after Bruce “died,” you- our Tim- started trying to tell us he was alive somewhere and we…"

"Didn't believe him. Kon did, so that's how that happened."

Jay nods gently, "yeah. Our Timmy finally gave in to the clone. He, Superboy, went a little crazy when Tim went off to try finding B. He was here when Ra's brought the body back."

And Tim sighs a little because this is going to be a distraction from the reason he's here, but- "first off, I owe your Tim so many props. So. Many. Props. Because you two, wow." The two grin and at him, but he holds up a hand. "Second, I don't think your Tim is dead. He's alive somewhere."

And now, he's got their attention. "But, the body-"

"You also saw B's body. Was he dead?"

"Uh, no-"

"When you got to my world, did you feel a second heartbeat? Like, from the other you?"

The glance exchange again.

"Because that's what I felt, still feel. He's not dead."

And that bomb has Jay choking and Dick's knees giving out.

"Hey, hey, c'mon," he kneels by Dick and Jay falls beside the guy to throw both arms around him.

"Look, he's alive, still surviving. After this war thing, I will help you find him, but I'm pretty sure I already know kind of where he might be."

And both the older Bats look broken as fuck, "where-"

Tim just gives a half shrug, "Ra's." Is all he needs to say.

"Fucker," Jay snarls.

"Pretty much," Tim agrees. "But I already have a plan, so all good."

And the laughter this time is more tears soaking into the shoulders of his suit, but it’s okay. Red Robin, the Other universe Tim Drake is sure someone is alive (again), and this time, the Bats believe him.

**

Dami and O are staring. Just still in shock.

"He's-" O starts.

"Alive," Dami finishes hoarsely, arms tucked tightly around himself. "Of course he is. Who else would be able to find him but _you_?"

Tim shrugs, "you felt yourself when you hit my world. I felt his heart beating when I got here. Logical conclusion."

Dami just nods and his expression takes a turn for the stubborn. The same stubborn Jay and Dick had when he told them.

Red throws up his damn hands. Fine. Just _fine_. Multitasking on a whole different level of _we’re on a time limit, people,_ it would be then.

"All right then. Dammit, you three. Okay, change of plans." And fuck. "Do we have a BatPlane?"

"Two, hidden in the underground," Jay answers tightly.

"Okay. Okay then. I need Kon first, he can help us fight our way in to get him out. I'll recalibrate the plane with my blocking tech so the Insurgents will have to be right the fuck on top of us to find us." He starts pacing now, thoughts going a mile a minute, diverting to other scenarios, other contingencies in case different things come into play.

"Christ," Jay finally whispers, "you're just like him. God-"

"I have to have other plans in case shit starts failing somehow," he defends, but Jay is suddenly up in his space, looking down fondly, eyes soft and warm and _oh God_ what he would **_give_** to have his Jason Todd looking at him like this. What he would give to have his Damian shake his head with mirth and affection, a real brother. His Dick look at him with heat below the surface of those dark eyes, body coiled with tension and want…

Jay leans down and presses his lips to Tim's forehead briefly. And that just…

His breathing hitches; he turns his back on pure reflex, hiding the whole lot of pain and vestiges of longing welling up in his chest.

"It's okay," Dick's voice just wafts over, "sorry-"

"I can't," Tim interrupts ruthlessly, his muscles automatically tensing. "I can't have this. Can't get used to it, okay?" And fuck, is that _his voice_? "Don't take offense. I'm here for a job, so I've got to focus on that. Okay? Just don't-" _hate me like the others_.

"Okay, Tim. Okay," and the hand on his shoulder is almost too much but he still needs it.

**

Now, he can see the abandoned Manor in the distance but hadn't had the heart to ask where Bruce had gone or what happened to Alfred. Those answers would wait.

Instead, while the other Bats have his back, discs on, he takes a deep breath and rears back.

"Kon! I know you can hear me!" Pause. "If you're going to make an epic entrance, now is the time, dude!"

And here's the part where things happen that aren't really according to plan. He doesn't just get Superboy; he gets most the fucking other universe JLA.

Superman, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Flash, Superboy, Aquaman Cyborg, and… Superman is carrying a tall man dressed in a dark ninja costume with the Tengu mask and…fuck. He recognizes that shit in a heartbeat.

Kon is the first one to reach him and for a Kryptonian, he's all skin and bones, face gaunt with those dark eyes.

"Tim!" And that broken voice just goes right to his heart, his best friend looked like death warmed over. "What happened to you? Fuck you're taller and-"

"Hey man, slow down okay? I'm not your Tim Drake, Kon. Sorry. Multiverse and stuff." He blinks behind his domino and suddenly finds himself holding the clone up with both arms. "It's cool, your Tim is alive and we're going to find him. Then we're going to have a hellatious war and send these motherfuckers packing. Okay? That's why I'm here."

And the guy breaks down a little (a lot), holding on to his shoulders and shaking like crazy.

"Let's get him to the bunker, out of plain sight," Batman suggests with a hand to Red's shoulder. "We can go over the plans with the JLA and go find our Tim."

And yeah, he agreed. The force field wouldn't deter the roving Insurgent security detail patrol for long. He lifts Kon as he stands (role reversal right here; his Kon would be dying of embarrassment), shaken by how light the guy is and by how much the JLA is staring at him while he moves with the Bats at his back.

"Why aren't they coming for us?" Diana asks while moving. Red cuts her a grin over Kon's grasping hands on his shoulders.

"We kind of sent them packing in my world, so I kept some of the tech I created during the Titan's battle. Seems some of the calibrations are good, but for the bigger equipment, I need more data. It's… Well, not something I want to leave to chance."

"You aren't really Tim Drake," and this from the Tengu.

"Really, B. I'm hurt. Well, not really. You found Shiva again, swell. Hate the mask still, just saying."

And it's telling about how much Batman the guy is not because he _starts_.

"How did you-"

"I was still your Robin when Bane broke your back," he deadpanned as the secret underground door opened for the new Batman. "When you healed enough, you went to Shiva to get yourself back." He glances over at the Tengu, "this universe has some different… Nuances. Did that-?"

"Yes," B interrupts, "yes. Our Tim Drake was my Robin during that time."

And the passage opens up to the bunker, giving Red a place to set Kon, even if he has to give the guy a minute or two to let go, talking gently to him all the while. ("It's okay, man. We're going to get him back. We're going to free your world. That's why I'm here. You're not alone.")

"So," he finally says, turning to the avidly curious JLA.

Behind him, Kon's hand stays fisted in his cape. He doesn't move any further away, letting the guy rest his forehead against the back of Red's shoulder.

"I'm multiverse Red Robin or Tim Drake. Your, uh, Bats appeared in my universe because, well, Lex Luthor is a tool and shit happens. I was able to get the coordinates of this world while they kind of told me the Insurgent's Crisis went down very differently here. So, me being me, I kind of fooled them and came through to help out on that front. I brought the tech we used to beat them. More so, I've set up the portal in my world to open up in four days, and sent messages out to my groups of superheroes to come through and help out on the ‘Send the Invaders Bye-Bye’ parade. Made some nifty invitations and everything."

Diana comes forward to grasp his upper arm, "knowing what has happened and you've still come to aid us?"

Red blinks at her from behind the domino, "well, I was a Bat. That's what we do." He shrugs again, "besides, the Insurgents were one of the worst foes we've ever faced. They will destroy this world eventually, overrun it completely. We have to stop them now, while there are still fighters to do so." And Red Robin pulls the domino away, facing them with his dark eyes, the leader in him coming to the fore as he throws out one fist, "who's with me?"

And this Tim Drake, this Red Robin is so like theirs in mind, in personality, the JLA, for the first time since landing to meet his call, straighten to their full height.

"I am with you," Aquaman says first, coming to lay his hand on Red Robin's. "Me and mine of the sea will lend strength to your fight."

"I am also," Superman steps forward to also put his on top, "you have my strength to add to yours."

"You will have the support of the Amazons." Diana swears, her hand atop the pile.

"I'll call the Lantern Corps again. This time we'll give 'em hell." As the Green Lantern ring glints on the pile of hands.

Shakily, the arm that comes around Red Robin from behind is the silent Superboy's full support.

Cyborg grins with anticipation, "what's a good fight without tech support, am I right?"

In a moment, the Flash grins, already across the room with his hand on the pile. "You know I'm in it to win it!" Because, well, _Wally_ after all.

And the Bats approach steadily, silently, throwing their support in with the rest, Robin laying his hand on top with determination in every bone of his body.

Finally, the Tengu removes the mask to the man underneath. And Bruce, the World's Greatest Detective, the fighter that has never given in, lays his hand with finality on the growing pile, his blue eyes dark with strength that had left him, revitalized with the need to save their world.

"It's going to take everything we have, people. But, we're taking our world back or die trying."

And Red Robin grins like mad, his free hand behind his cape to hold on to Kon's other wrist for support, "well then, I guess it's time to be heroes."


	2. Chapter 2

_Five days ago:_

A large majority of his life has been spent here, in the deeps and darks of the underground network of caves under his ancestral family home. He know this place like an extension of his body, like he knows the air in his lungs and the blood beating under his skin; he’s climbed every inch, been the one to run cable for power, the create work stations to support the night life. This is his sanctuary; so, when the air around him charges, changes dramatically, he snaps to immediate attention. The swirling whirlwind of colored light has him pressing the proverbial panic button under the computer consul's main drives, everything turning off instantly until he calls out his password and voice/face rec accepts. The Cave locks down tight.

He's got paralyzing pellets in one hand and a Batarang in the other along with numerous tricks for whoever in the hell might be coming into his home turf. The Batman is ready.

The rainbow of colors sparks, widens into a circle of blue, an obvious portal, and… three of his sons tumble out?

He almost double takes since he was certain he'd left Dick, Jason, and Damian upstairs with Alfred eating breakfast less than twenty minutes ago. His detective’s mind combined with years of experience go to four distinct possibilities:

  1. Time travel
  2. Clones
  3. Evil plots (Luthor, you rat bastard)
  4. Inter or external dimensional rifts

And that's the short list.

He expects a plethora of actions/reactions from the boys he tried to train to always be prepared for the unexpected, to never underestimate a situation; he isn't disappointed. The three untangle their mess of limbs and are on their feet, back-to-back, in a blink, and... he honestly can’t remember seeing all three of his sons work in tandem with one another, moving to cover each other’s blind spots, weaknesses automatically (Dick and Tim could do it effectively). 

He blinks while the three of them immediately take in their surroundings, on guard: Dick in the Batsuit, Jason as the Red Hood, and Tim as Robin.

Tim… No, skin coloring and facial features are all Damian…Damian, older, taller, broader in a modified version of…_Tim's Robin uniform_ (his eyes slide to the glass case, but the uniform is still there on display next to Jason’s)? However, a quick glance tells him this suit is more armored, weaponized, same wide utility belt, same green leggings and black boots with Kevlar and something else distinctly _different_. Similarly, Hood's previous design is likewise more armored than a jacket and body suit with Kevlar overlay, just as the Batsuit is more reinforced.

The three start a running monologue without pause, ready to take on whoever they think is going to come out of the Cave for them.

"Who's memories?" The slight accent, a twist to the words, is indeed Damian.

"Fuck, the _Cave_?! Really brat?"

"Might be mine," from Dick.

And then they're eyes are all for him, standing by the computer in his own fresh suit; he’d been making reports of the activities after a few hours sleep (a miracle, but sometimes those happened).

"Holy…_B_. Has to be Dick's or mine, look at that suit. Before your time, Rob."

"Father…" And in a single word, he knows Damian is very different. _Future, maybe I died for real this time?_

"Boys," he holds up both hands, no weapons. "Take a breath. What's going on? Where were you? What happened?" **_When_**_ were you?_

"Oh my God, it sounds so real." And Dick is nearly breathless. “What the hell is this?”

_It?_ Okay, time to re-evaluate the short list. "I am real, Dick. Want to tell me what you did to my suit? I thought we talked about too much versus too little."

Now the three are drawing back, stepping away, deeper in the Cave.

"How is he interacting with us if this is a memory?" And Damian's voice from Tim's Robin suit gives him another wave of something _terrible_. With the Tim that exists now, the one that’s probably with the Titans, or the Tim these three may know..?

_Focus on the moment, gather data first_. "Not a memory, at least not that I’m aware of. Are you from the future? Damian, how old are you? Dick? Jason?"

"H-Have they figured out how to alter the Mind Field?" Dick moves like a shadow and nope, as good as his eldest son is, he's always had a flair to his fighting, his flying, a hold-over from his days as an acrobat, a true showman. It’s an integral part of him. This Dick Grayson, however, has had that tendency trained right out of him; something devastating must have happened, this man _is the night_.

"Is this one of them?" Batman Dick demand of his brothers without looking away.

B's eyes narrow.

"Shit that look." The Red Hood breathes. "If it’s them, they're good. Fuck, I'm getting chills."

"How do we tell?" And the desperation in Damian is not something he's heard since the boy died.

So, different tactic.

"All right then," B sighs a little. "Where is Tim Drake, the third Robin? If you don't know him, then you might be from another possible multiverse then."

Now all three flinching back at the mention. That terrible feeling intensifies.

"Jesus Christ," and the helmet is deactivated, thrown as Jason Todd's bare face, no domino underneath, worn and wary, meets him. And this is _not_ his Jason, even as much as his second son has suffered, the man in front of him is beaten down by his trials. "What the _fuck_ are you trying to pull? Tim's been dead for months. Bats,” those green eyes shift to Dick, and he has to take a second to realize Jason isn’t talking to _him_, “he's pulling shit from our memories-!"

"Then I'll tell you what happened after the Joker…" And yeah, that never going to get easier. _Ever_.

"No dice," Jason returns. “You could all that shit from him,” a head nod to the silent, stalking other Batman. Watching it just…_what the hell happened to them?_

"Then the current you from this moment in time are upstairs with Alfred, probably worried about the lock down. I let them in and they tell you." B goes on reasonably, "or you can prove to me you aren't clones, shape shifters, or aliens. Your choice."

Under the reinforced cowl, Dick's mouth tightens, "considering where we are, why don't you prove the non-alien part."

B just shrugs, "you've already refused to answer my questions, Dick. I'm not even sure where you came from. Since Damian is obviously older than thirteen, future _you_ or elaborate trap is what I'm working with here." _And Tim…Tim’s been dead for **months**_.

The three exchange a pointed look.

"Call this other me," the elder Damian demands.

"Are you going to attack him?" Mild since he isn't going to take it as truth until he sees it anyway.

"Not if I believe he is really me."

Well, at least some things are the same.

"Computer. Begin initialization. Authorization Delta Janus Theta Sierra Desert 06051979."

The monotone voice echoes in the cavern above their heads, “voice and facial imprint recognized.”

With the Cave starting up processes and lowering security protocols, including unlocking the secret entrance upstairs for his concerned sons to also tumble through, B still hears the whispered conversation:

"That isn't from me." Dick's voice.

"Me neither. Not the code I remember. Shit could we really be in the past or some shit?!" Jason sounds so painfully tired and unsure.

"It is not from my memory either," Damian adds. “His old code was Pennyworth’s birthday and the day he met my mother.”

And then the tromping footsteps of his current three sons hitting the bottom floor in civvies and dominos.

"Holy shit!" Both Red Hoods say in tandem, and both jerk because well, in stereo.

"It's not the Mind Field," the older Damian observes to the others while staring at the younger Robin. "Maybe it is time travel? But I do not remember any of this."

"How old are you?" The younger one asks.

"Sixteen." And the older Robin pulls off the domino, green eyed with a wicked scar marring the side of his face, perilously close to his eye.

"So Grayson is in his thirties then," younger Damian muses while the two Dicks shake hands (the one as Batman does so at arm’s length, wary, _hm, smart but telling_) and the computer spits out readings from before the anomaly dropped their visitors out of thin air.

"What?" and this other Dick sounds offended, removing the armored cowl. He, as other Jason, looks well beyond worn. "I'm only twenty-seven, Brat Prince."

That gives their Dick pause, "huh, so…am I." And now he’s assessing this strange altered self, taking in the lines in the familiar face, the armored suit, the sharper Bat insignia.

"Multiverse," B answers for them, eyes taking in the data. "I'll need to call in some people for this. The JLA has a portal that can possibly be recalibrated." B visibly hesitates, "I may need Red Robin to plot coordinates. J’onn is usually the expert on multiverse travel; since he’s very off-world, I need someone else that can code and compare, run the analysis."

The Bats, all of them, pause.

"Tim is—?" Older Damian says in a small voice.

"He's _alive_? Where the hell is he?" Other Jay asks and a testament to the differences is that this new Jason Todd can't hide the catch in his voice or the darkening of his eyes as he searches through the congregation.

"Of course he's alive. Useless but breathing." The youngest of the group sneers, and all three of their visiting Bats turn sharply to look at him. Subtle, but the other Dick is suddenly gripping the older Damian’s wrist, tightly.

Dick in civvies sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose, "we have so talked about this, Dami. Stop with the antagonist snide against him, okay? Seriously, this is getting to be too much."

His youngest snaps straight, "You are aware, Grayson, I have every right—"

"And you _know_ where he was at the time you got the cape. He's moved on, and it's time for you to do the same. Tim was a good Robin, a good ally to all of us. He still comes when we call, doesn't he? That means he’s still a Bat, he still fighting the good fight with us."

The kid has nothing for that, a muscle in his jaw ticking while he and Grayson continued to disagree about the _Drake Problem_. As long as he stays away with his little team, everything would be fine. Should Father find some _use_ for his predecessor, he could return for short bursts and leave as soon as his usefulness is at an end. It has taken time, but Drake finally must have realized _he has no place here_ any longer, should never have been in the true son's rightful station. Grayson was the first, the beginning of the legacy; Todd gave his life for the cape. Drake is simply the placeholder until he could come and assume the mantle. He served his purpose.

A glance at this Other him, the utter disdain is obvious in his more mature features, but the Bat notices the Batman Grayson has a hand restraining, and the younger Damian's eyes narrow, assessing.

Other Dick just addresses B, "can you get him here?" And…there is no joking around, no easy going manner to this man; he stands in front of his brothers, a leader, the Batman.

"I'll call him in an hour. He's in San Francisco time, probably still out on patrol if not with the Titans."

Another look passes between these three visitors.

"In the meantime, we can hunt down some civvies for you guys, I'm sure Alfred won't mind getting some lunch together." Dick offers graciously.

"Thank-you but no. We will await him here." Older Damian denies politely, arms folding over his armored chest. The two at his sides seem to be on board with that plan.

The sense of _something off _and now urgent strikes B enough that he excuses himself to make the call anyway.

**

Still gnawing on the consistent feel of something terribly wrong, something that had little to do with the three very different men that stumbled into his Cave, in his universe, B hadn't fought Red Robin's exit from the Cave. Of course, he hadn’t expected Red to walk in, take his assignment, and walk out either. He would have expected the third Robin to wait with them while the JLA sent the portal to his coordinates since, well, _tech_ is the younger man’s forte.

Rather, watching those three hold on to this universe’s Tim Drake with utter _desperation_, barely keeping themselves together in his presence tells B the Other Red Robin's passing was incredibly traumatic, devastating (_why else would Damian wear that uniform without significant alteration other than additional protection from whatever they face in their world?_).

Even after Red Robin had left like hell was on his heels, those three stood together around the newest glass case with Red's first Robin suit and talked quietly among themselves, hands on shoulders and forearms to comfort one another, their bond stronger than his three sons just by the way the other Jason pulls Damian into his side. He can easily deduce the relationship they had with their Red Robin to be vastly closer than his own sons.

As for calling out to his Red Robin, B finds himself…disturbed. To his memory, previous contact hadn't been met with such opposition; Red had always answered the call to fight, the need for collaboration, the tasking for intel, and this strangely brusque behavior is unsettling. Then, the kid's (_18 Bruce, he's 18 now_) fight response at a simple touch to the shoulder, his complete disregard for the changes made to the Cave in the last year are likewise disturbing. He searches his memory for the latest cases from the BI database, Titan missions reported through the JLA, anything that would explain why Red suddenly wanted out of the Cave, away from the Bats badly enough to refuse unraveling a mystery like the multiverse travelers.

He comes up with nothing relevant and decides to gather more data.

The discussion at his table with these visitors gave him more to consider; this very different, obviously protective Red Hood takes up for Red Robin without knowing this universe’s version; however, when the older Damian observes out right that he had abandoned one of his former Robins, B is left with a sour taste and perhaps a bit of indecision on his part. Like Nightwing had done, Red Robin left the nest to grow into his own man, had his own agenda, his own life, his team, and he isn't a boy anymore to be managed. B is well aware his independent Robin flew further than the others, fought without the Batman holding him back, the way it should be. However, he is perhaps wondering if allowing him to be his own man may have been misconstrued with indifference. He had let things happen in a comfortable progression of natural events; children grew up, moved on or so it had seemed at the time. Nothing had been said concerning how Damian took up Robin in his absence or his choice to keep Damian on (taking it away would have been damaging, extremely so, to the ten-year old; surely Red _saw_ that). B had considered it an unstated agreement.

The phone call to Red, however, watching Dick's expression smooth out to bland, neutral lines draws his immediate attention and suspicion; the words are very the usual _big brother_ Dick, but the expression isn’t. His oldest sets his cell to speaker and just drops it in the middle of the table, turning on his heel and heading back toward the kitchen without another word.

B follows just enough to hold the door open to monitor the conversation while facing the slightly trembling acrobat in the kitchen. Alfred, with his usual subtlety, leave out the other door.

His eldest son's fists are clenched so hard his knuckles are white and veins sticking out in his forearms.

"Little asshole told me not to call him _little brother_," his eldest sneers, body taunt with anger, and B simply blinks at him. Dick had slapped that designation to Tim Drake from Robin training, Day 1. Literally. Sufficient evidence gathered to assume something had gone very wrong along the line, B weighs the priorities.

"We apparently have issues in our own house," he placates, listening to the older Damian explain about the events in their world. And the short, generic report from the JLA database flashes through his mental rolodex again (_Red half-buried under rubble with blood all over his suit, whirlybird mid-throw_) "Once we've got this taken care of, we reevaluate."

But Dick is the same boy that first donned the tunic, named the role of _partner_, and when he gets like this, a truly offended kind of mad, the anger doesn't let up. B returns in time to catch the distinct hoarseness in Red Robin's voice over the speaker:

"The Titans?"

"No. I am—I am sorry, Tim-"

And the invite to Red Robin's perch is pointed. Of course he noticed; Dick, Jason, and Damian did also, bristling in their own way. Still, the talk, the seriousness of the situation has them all curious enough to suit up and invite themselves along. It didn't occur to him until after the fact that he'd never been to Tim's apartment in Gotham, wasn’t aware he still had one. He’d spent time at Dick's, yes; he even showed up at the safe houses Jason favored before he had taken up residence in the Manor a few days here and there. The address is given and B stores it in memory, wondering why he hasn’t seen it on any paperwork or bills before now. Another thing to consider while he also dons the cowl of the Bat.

The visitors are not receptive to the idea of being “chaperoned,” but this isn't their city, not their call. And he would need face time to start dealing with the space between him and Red Robin.

Nightwing, also, hasn't been to Timmy's perch in Gotham; it's his first time sliding through the windows, and he blatantly stares at the guy from behind the whiteouts when they hit penthouse. It takes him a second to realize Red Robin isn't wearing a mask yet, that his eyes are still that crazy blue, almost purple, and it must have been a while since he's seen his little bro- seen the kid without a cowl or domino.

The hologram wall is neat tech, and N gives a wave from where he's standing because _hello, Titans, been a minute, how’s kicks?_

He listens to the back and forth between the team and the Other Bats, taking apart each implication as it comes (8,000 left to fight. _Holy apocalypse, Batman_).

B is doing the same thing beside him with Hood and Robin, all of them taking in as many details as possible, including noting the nuances of the team and Red Robin when their roles in the fighting come to the fore.

"You were able to hack the hive while in the Mind Field? How?!" His counterpart is closer to Red than a few minutes ago, sounding so much less dark and just…amazed.

Raven answers, "Bunker and I were able to block a portion of his conscious mind before we were thrown in; his unconscious was with us, and thus the Field registered him. Had Red Robin not the mental control he possesses, it would not have been successful."

“As is, it was iffy at best,” Kon shrugs a little, eyes darting the side where Red Robin is standing.

"Holy shit, Red," Other Hood is just shaking his head. "That's a one in a million shot."

"Incredible planning. Following the Bat credo, _know thy enemy_, right?" and Dick's counterpart has a hand on Red Robin's shoulder (and _no_, he's not seething because this guy can be a fucking big brother, and he can't. _Oh no_, **he's** just the guy that's been there since Red was a new Robin, just training him, working with him, train surfing, saving, being saved by, being the kid's fucking Batman when he **never** wanted the damn cowl in the first place. _Hell no,_ he is not royally getting **pissed off** because that guy doesn't know _this_ Tim, was never his Batman, his partner). His back teeth grind unconsciously while he taps a foot at the easy way his counterpart talks to Red, gets a response that isn’t empty and coolly professional.

His recent Robin nudges against his side with a very sharp elbow, "what is it?" The kid hisses under his breath, "you are glaring, and I am able to tell under your mask."

N turns the glare down to Robin. "Nothing. I just don't like finding out about Earth-ending alien visits _after_ the fact. It's good to be in the _loop_ when world destruction shit goes down."

"Tt. Then you should berate that fool for keeping this Crisis to himself and his team. Should these invaders return, only the Titans would be able to stop them as the accessible data is as my counterpart observed: vague, unspecific."

"Wow, when brat has a point, brat has a point," their Red Hood in only a domino observes.

"Vic has the information apparently," B fill in from his other side. "Red gave him access after the JLA picked the kids up." And now he distinctly remembers now waving the other members of the League off with their protégés since, just by the look of those kids, it had been worse than they were telling. He had seen Red Robin catch Cyborg's arm, passing something over before extending his wings and taking off presumably back to the Tower. He remembers thinking he was going to regret letting Red Robin go off alone before boarding the jet.

Now, he does. The Titans give their account of events, the altered reality, reliving the worst moments of their lives over and over in a cycle so real it could drive one to insanity; he shouldn’t have let Red go off alone. Perhaps they would be in a different place if he hadn’t.

The Other Red Hood's legs give out, and the instinctual move to catch him on Red's part makes their Red Hood look over, expression changing around the domino like he's thinking hard, trying to figure out something that should be painfully obvious.

"A neural net hive mentality?" N repeats to himself while Red is calculating the possible difference between the two universes, and here's the moment they've all been waiting for: the part where Red is going to have to see everything for himself firsthand and want to go to the damn post-apocalyptic world and try to save it.

N and B are ready for _that train_ when the Titans oddly enough beat them to it; there’s a whole lot of _how about you stay out of it, give them what they need, and don’t get your ass in deep with any more than necessary_. More annoyingly, N's touchy-feely counterpart and the older Robin are just as self-sacrificing as any other Bat to refuse Red's non-stated offer. He and B didn’t even get to step in with their two cents, like no one thought they _would_ or something.

And since, well, _Bats_, they bide their time until the Titans sign off and the Other Bats take Red's offer of coffee before the current Bats descend on him, huddling around him standing at him system to start gathering what he would need to fulfill his promise.

"Deets, Red," Hood just comes right out with, arms crossed over his chest.

"You just got them." The younger man replies without a pause, not looking away from his data. "Ask B for notes if you missed something."

"Kid-" and the warning is there. Like, almost like Red hears it: _knifes are sharp and pointy, need another lesson on that? How many scars you need until you **learn** something, kid?_

"I'm not fucking around, Hood,” and there’s that dark voice, something further down the line from the old Robin. That voice makes Robin’s hands twitch. “We just went through it step-by-step."

"Yeah? Why didn't you call the JLA once you knew how bad it was going to be? Those fuckers are on the contact list for alien invasions, asshole."

"You see any of them walking around today? We had it."

"Red." And his tone should imply enough, it always has with the third Robin (hasn’t it?).

"You got what you needed to know," is the answer instead of what the Batman wants to hear. "I have a hell of a to-do list."

The dismissal stings, and N has a very important moment to pause.

"Tim," he tries, "it's just us here. Okay?"

Red Robin just sits at his system and starts typing, "there's nothing else to talk about," is all they get.

“At least come back to the Cave to work on this,” B tries to bargain. “My system can run the numbers faster, and you can—“

“It’s not my place.” Red cuts him off with no _anything_ in his tone, just facts, and those faces swing right at him, staring behind whiteout lenses because _what the hell did he just say_?

Robin shifts uncomfortably, silent, arms crossed over his chest and the familiar frown; B starts to say something but stops himself and takes a step back. N is at a complete loss because when did this start? Why would Red even _think_—

“I have _work_ to do.”

The Other Bats are watching from the island in the kitchen, sipping coffee like it's a precious commodity. Other Dami actually washes their mugs before they leave and thanks Red Robin for his help, making the current Bats pause for another uncomfortable moment when Red gives them a small smile and a nod.

**

And Dick knew, before Tim Drake, CEO, ever called out to his alternative self, a plan was brewing in that constantly working mind. He'd already taken a step closer when Tim came right up to the glowing portal, holding out the computer _for his own suit_ (like no one would _realize_) and smiled.

When Tim jumped and the Other Dick followed immediately, hand outstretched, he had a terrible moment of clarity and panic: he would never see Timothy Jackson Drake again. The third Robin was going to get caught in the wheels of Fate and either stay in that alternative reality with those other _thems_ to rebuild the world or die trying to save it.

"Dammit Timmy!" He yells at the blank portal, his mind just turning with implications and regret and he wanted his little fucking brother back, keeping himself from slamming his palms against the portal but only just.

"Little asshole planned it!" Jason sneers while Damian is simply at a loss, still staring at the de-energized circle in the Cave.

"Why…? How do we get him back? Father?"

The BatComputer shoots out coordinates to the JLA and the beeping of an incoming message doesn't take the pissed off look from B's face.

"Batman," he answers, more growly than normal.

"You need to come to the Watchtower, like ASAP." Cyborg's voice fills the Cave. "You need to see this."

Without a hitch, "get ready for four us. I'm bringing the other Bats with me."

"Acknowledged. Watchtower out."

**

The Titans are also a circle of _pissed the hell off_; not that they really knew the meaning of the words, but Red Hood could give them a hell of a crash course. It’s taking most of what sanity he has left _not_ to start with the shooty bang bang (fuck you, rubber bullets and supes, don’t judge) just to keep himself from climbing the walls.

Superboy looks like he's going to start busting some skulls by the way his fists are clenched and the black expression on the normally happy-go-lucky kid has a whole lot of _Red’s in deep shit_ written all over it. Well, the Superbrat can just _get the fuck in line_.

Raven is just the usual gloomy and destructions, but her mouth is down turned and her spine ramrod straight. Good old BB is right next to her, not touching (because the guy is that smart), but he looks pretty fit to be tied too. Even Kid Flash looks ticked and nothing usually bothers that little shit.

"All right," Supes gives them a look over the rest of the assembled JLA, Titans, and a _shit pot_ full of other superheroes in the big meeting room (damn, is that _all_ the Lanterns or what?). "We're on the clock, people. Cyborg, play it again."

The big screen starts up and Hood nudges Kid Flash, asking if the guy brought popcorn since, you know, movie time.

Red's masked face takes up the screen, and he shuts his mouth.

"Justice League. By now, I am in alternative dimension, Earth 1458.65, one that has been overrun with the alien species you know as the Insurgents. An approximate 8,000 fighters are still standing across that world, half or better are humans; the numbers of invaders are estimated at one hundred and fifty thousand spread across the world in five strategic locations.

In four days, I will have infiltrated their neural net and cracked their encoding to create a similar virus that will attack their hive as the Titans did to save our world. However, I will need to get access to their Mothership in order to plant the virus and bring them down. Hopefully, this is where you come in. Any heroes you can gather in that time will be able to join the fight by coming through the automated portal that will open at oh eleven hundred hours four days from the time this message is sent. Any distraction, any aid in the fight would be welcome.

The portal will only open for fifteen minutes at the seventy mile marker outside New York City, the place of least concentration; if no one comes through in that time, I will close it to keep anyone or anything else from crossing. For any that volunteer, we will brief on the plan, coordinate comms, and continue on to New York City where the Mothership is stationed while secondary teams will break off and take on the four flag ships around the globe to aid in the effort. A similar communication with the same details will be going out to others in my network except for The Titans and the Outlaws as someone will need to stay in our world to defend it from the usual array.

At the time of this message, I will have the five devices needed to bring the occupying ships down, and about four hundred smaller pieces of tech that can disrupt the invader’s mental field used to power their flying devices and Earth-adapting suits. In addition, I have access to less than one thousand mind-blocking discs for anyone without telepathic capabilities and experience in deflecting the Insurgent’s main weapon: telepathic and telekinetic manipulation. However, their greatest weapon to date, the Mind Field, is a multi-functional, multi-faceted trap, that we have no weapon against. How this trap is able to register human thought is unknown; further, how it is able to trigger the most extreme memories in a virtual environment as well as distribute these memories to other in the Field is unidentified. The strongest minds can still be lost, and you could very well not make it out.

This synopsis is so you know where we stand, that way, everyone can make an informed decision. Keep in mind, many of your counterparts on Earth 1458.65 have already long fallen under the invaders and with the numbers we’re up against combined with the tech I have available, the odds are not in our favor. There are no guarantees anyone volunteering would make it home; there are also no guarantees of anyone actually making it back would do so with their sanity intact. That’s the kind of danger we will be up against.

That said, I wouldn't blame anyone for prioritizing, our world needs heroes as much as this one. Anyone would choose to deal with their own problems at home rather than risk their lives for a world already infested, especially when joining this fight could mean never going back. For those of you that decide to take the risk, deal with the ramifications, you know where to meet me.

And Red Robin gives the camera a half-smirk, "four days. See you on the other side, or not."

The screen goes to black.

The Titans move as a unit, away from the assembled random heroes, and you can bet your ass the older heroes watch them circle and start up the dialogue in angry, harsh whispers.

Supes and B just exchange a look. "All right," the Batman starts slowly, “you’ve heard the situation. Spread the word, people. In four days, we’ll see where we stand.” The other heroes gather in groups to talk about the risks, the possibilities, and while he’s talking with the Outlaws, Hood sees Wally put a hand to Big Wing’s elbow because Dickie might just burst a vessel if he gets anymore degree of _that kid is going to **get it**_. Seriously, the guy is vibrating in his boots almost. Robin's got his shit together more than N, but well, probably because he hopes Red will stay the fuck gone. That kid probably isn’t going anywhere near any of this since he hates that guy, but as he, Roy, and Kory talk in low voices, the Red Hood is already giving them an out and pretty much signing on the dotted line.

“You mean you’re going to go and leave us here?” Roy asks while the mask moves with his arching eyebrow.

Hood just shrugs because, well, _Bats_. “You two know about what I did to that kid, right?” And yeah, there’s that. The Red Hood might not be the kid’s fanboy or anything, but he’s come a long way from trying to slit the little shit’s throat. He’s a guy that can recognize when he’s got amends to make. He hasn’t been able to make the steps, not with Red staying away from his crazy ass (which isn’t actually true since there were too many ‘_You look pretty fucked up, Hood, give me your damned hand unless you liked dying the first time so much you want to give it another go’_ and _‘you only have three slugs this time, looks like you’re getting the _fuck, fuck, duck_ thing we’ve been talking about_’).

“When you were bat-shit crazy, man,” Roy points out and then laughs like a fucker because his puns suck ass. Man, get a joke book out of this century.

“Cute, asshole.” And he crosses his arms over his chest, “I’m getting back the with Bats, slowly but surely, and if they go, so do I. Don’t mean you two gotta be in that mess.”

Kory lays a hand on his arm, voice low, “Jason, we are with you. If you intend to go, we shall stand with you.”

Roy grins, “you heard the lady. Hell, maybe Bats won’t give two shits about the kid either, and you’re off the hook.”

That does nothing to make Hood feel any better. Rather, he briefly wonders how many clips and guns he can pack in four days.

**

_Now_

"Dude," Other Kon groans from the back of the plane, "if I eat anymore, I'm going to hurl."

Red grins from one of the pilot seats, working his system to recalibrate the outer force field every ninety-one seconds. Multitasking as he does it, he's also crunching the data they were able to get while the Bats got the plane ready with his tech. He and Kon hit three out of the five hot spots of activity, getting samples of the neural encoding (similar building blocks, this wasn’t even going to be that hard, score) he'd need to figure out how to break it down. The guy had been ready to fucking drop when they met the Bats back at the base, pausing at the workstation set-up for Vic to start getting messages out to the other freedoms fighters, looking pale as shit and shaky.

Red had caught his arm, sat his ass down, and shoved a water bottle and four protein bars at him immediately, making him stop on the threat they would leave his ass in Gotham while they went to get this world's Tim and _don't fuck with me Kon, I will so tie you to a chair and put Kryptonite on the table, don't test me, man_. Not. Even. Joking.

Well, at least one Kon-El took him seriously (oh yeah, those eyes had gone wide when he made to reach in his utility belt).

"Geeze Superbrat, it's an enclosed space. Get it?" Hood snickers from Red’s right.

Batman just shakes his cowled head, manipulating the controls while Superman stays close to the jet outside, over his shoulder. Wonder Woman looks intense from the other side. "Hood, you could at least stop making dead Robin jokes in the interim."

"Pfft, they're all about me anyway."

"Still, not helping the sitch."

"Awe, c'mon, Bats, you're no fun."

And Red just rides through the banter (because there can be this back and forth, _that it can happen_, makes a piece of him ease), grinning to himself while he finds even _more_ parallels in the code (recalibration is going to be less intensive) and planning his first to last step inside Ra's Cradle.

"Kon, you're at least thirty pounds underweight. If your Tim chews my ass out, I'm totally throwing you under the bus, man." He deadpans, completely serious.

"If I hurl, I'll still be thirty pounds underweight, _and_ it'll stink like hell in here," the super replies from the back.

"Okay. Got me there," he snarks back, glancing over his seat at the guy who is looking seventy one percent better than he did a few hours ago and grins at him.

One of the best things he's seen all day is Kon grinning back.

"We're about fifteen out, Baby Bird," Batman reports while sticking out his tongue at Superman for kicks before the alien catches him. The head turns lightning fast, but _Batman_.

"Sweet. Ra's might just shit kittens and die for real once he sees me," Red grins, a sharp edge. "I am stoked to kick the hell out of some ninjas. I bet this Ra’s is going to get super pissed when I foil _his_ plots, too."

Hood laughs and his eyes are suddenly very _intense_, "fucking right, Timmers. We're going bowling for Assassins!"

"Dude, I always pick-up the spares."

"Hope you brought your own shoes," Bats pipes up, "alley ones are sick."

"True story, bro. They let just anyone with rockin’ tights just use that shit. Mine are all steel-toe though."

"Or scaly panties, asshole!" Hood points out and all three laugh.

"So, cute bantering on pause," Kon clears his throat, "is there, ah, a plan?"

Red turns so Kon _knows _he’s getting the Bat stare, "Dude. Seriously? Of course I have a plan. Are you sure you’ve met me? Like, _him_ me?"

"Ah, okay. Just, uh, checking. Sorry, I should have known, right?" And there’s a little hitch in him that makes Red feel _instantly_ bad because yeah, the guy lost a friend, a team mate, and apparently a boyfriend (as odd as that is for him, wow, his Kon would be just as wierded out).

Red sighs at him, placating, "the Insurgents aren't hackers, Kon. Like, that hasn't changed a bit. Good for us, bad for them. Good because I can still find and infiltrate not only _their_ tech but also ours here on Earth, it’s just easier because I’m not going through a whole lot of _new_ and up kept anything. Apocalypse, right?" and with a few key strokes, the screen in front of Red lights up with an underground cavern.

"Holy. Shit." Kon breathes. Leaning over Red's chair, the meta’s eyes are HUGE. The Bats are also looking at the screen, the lenses and helmet coming back to him briefly.

"Can you show me-?" Kon starts.

Red sighs a little, "you might be…ah, disturbed."

Kon's eyes go wider then hard, blue ice.

A few keystrokes and the screen changes, the camera feed obviously in the corner to show the whole room, and a medical bed is surrounded by equipment, lines and tubes, flickering light displaying numbers: blood pressure, heart rate, O2 intake.

The figure on the bed doesn't move, is pliant in unconsciousness. His arms are tied, elevated with straps fastened to hooks in the walls slightly above his head. A member of the League diligently works one leg in a series of moves, keeps the muscles from atrophy.

Around the bed and medical equipment, three large flat screen televisions flicker with lines and lines of code, of numbers and data (and he recognizes it all, the flowing numbers and calibrations almost exact to what he’s been doing this whole ride). The furthest screen, however, is a first-person view, a running leap off what could have once been Wayne Tower…

"Fuck. _Motherfucker_, Tim!" Kon yells at the screen, horrified, color already drained from his face. He’s shaky as hell, just almost _not there_.

"I know, Kon," and it's Red's voice, strength and solidarity, the leader of the Titans. "We have his location. We are getting him back. But," and Red stands, still about a foot of room to the top of the plane, grabs the guy’s face, forces him to focus. "They could kill him before we reach him. Do you understand, Kon-El? They could murder him in a heartbeat."

"I-" Kon's tone is a little broken, a little horrified, "I get it."

"To keep that from happening, we follow the plan, got it?"

The guy is shaky, eyes watery, and almost black with emotion. "I'll follow you. Whatever you say, I'll do it, just…just-"

"We're going to save him, but I need you, _he_ needs you to keep your cool, okay? We can't do it without you." (Sure they could because, well, _Ra's_, and plan is already in his head for _what if he has to do this solo_, but Red's not above lying for the greater good; he’s the guy that lies to Batman).

The vestiges, the ghost of _his_ Kon overlays this one, the broken, worn one, as Superboy straightens, his jaw firms, and that stubbornness starts taking over the guy's expression. Give him a killer ‘hawk and they’d be getting somewhere.

"I'm tight, Red. We're going to get him out."

Red Hood's turns in his seat to let a hand gingerly grips the guy's shoulder. "Rockin,’ kid. The set of _balls_ on you, man. Fucking. Righteous."

Kon grins at Hood over his shoulder, "I'm with you guys, Jay. Bats always had my back, no matter what, but I guarantee I'm going to return the favor."

Batman laughs, and honest-to-God, the sound makes something in Red ease down even more, makes something in his chest get tight with expectation that is very _not_ what it should be right here, right now. It takes a few seconds longer than normal for him to come back to the task at hand, but looking at Superman giving him a thumbs up from one side of the plane and Wonder Woman winking from the other, he just breathes as the realization hit: it's going to be a good day, one _hell_ of a good day.

**

_I’m kind of angry right now. Ra's is usually more on his game than this_, Red thinks while he rebounds off the cavern walls. Maybe the whole Apocalypse Now thing affected the League of Assassins more than he originally planned; well, that or the normal mass of ninjas and killers are having a meeting on their new 401k plan somewhere. Really, who knew?

Superman had made a path for him and Kon to fight further down into the underground tunnels, so the Bats, Wonder Woman, and Supes would be along eventually. Not even an issue, really, it’s a lot more help than he normally had against an alarming amount of ninjas (_where does he **find** these people, Killers R’ Us?_) and a few more immortals thrown in the mix. Like, usually, he had a whole lot of zero and none; actually, he kind of started thinking his Ra’s might just be too cheap to hire a decent ninja training, so let’s speed dial Red and let him know about this _terribly _dastardly plot: let the ass kicking begin.

Red's boots connect with a face on the down side of the rebound and he's still moving further, giving an appreciative glance at Kon backhanding another without even breaking his stride because _natch_ this world Tim Drake would have made the guy train like hell if they were indeed going steady (_no, dude, hold my hand, don’t break it_). No one was dead because _oops, super powers, my bad_.

He checks the schematics on his wrist computer, "almost. Ten meters."

The security feed was looped the moment they landed, so the alarm must have been triggered already; thus, a high probability Ra's and a shit ton of killers for hire are waiting for them in that room.

He's armed to the nines with the usual array of Bat stuff, pellets, discs, explody things, but the real question is going to be whether this world's Tim Drake is going to be used against him as a hostage or not. That’s where the plan breaks off into several other avenues of action.

"Get ready," he yells at Kon as their door comes up on the left.

Sometimes being right is a curse because, well Ninjas. Oddly enough, no sign of Ra's in the small room housing this world's Tim Drake.

Red doesn't even pause but dives into the mix, jumping to flip over the mass majority to put himself by the incapacitated man as the bo is ready to go to work.

And fighting with this Kon is just so incredibly… Different. His Kon still has hang ups about his strength and hurting people, had issues with the TTK and the heat vision; this Kon is the picture of control, of knowing himself (did he learn it before or after his Tim "died"? Did his Tim succeed where _he_ is still working with the guy in his world? Maybe he should take some notes).

Kon just starts this spinning thing before Red can take another one out and its a whirling smack-down all over the place that ends with this super right beside Red, seemingly _done with this shit_.

"Nice," is all Red can think to say as they both turn to the Tim Drake hooked up to a hell of a lot of machines.

Systematically, he goes through the equipment and hanging IVs.

"Tim? Babe?" And crap, Kon's voice is small, a whisper when he's at the bedside, staring down.

"They're keeping him in a medically induced coma, kind of, mostly. Thank fuck," he says while looking at the working code coming directly from that Tim Drake's brain, along with the false VR environment they're feeding him to keep him doing something so he thinks he's saving the Bats from the Insurgents rather than the League of Assassins.

Well played, Ra's.

"What?!" Kon looks horrified, already releasing the restraints on one side.

"Look, I should have died back when-" he erases what he almost said, "he could have actually been dead is all I’m getting at. He's not, so win. His body is good or they'd have him on more medication and life support instead of drugs and his brain is obviously working. This is pretty much good condition."

He taps the comm in his ear while moving because, "Status?"

"Moving your way, Baby Bird," Hood breathes in his ear. “The goon squad isn't really playing hard ball. Well, maybe because WW kicked a guy’s balls in his throat, literally, before she head butted him but who can really say?"

Red bites his cheek, hard. "We've found the target, no sign of the Big Bad. Keep your eyes peeled."

“Only if you lose the cape so I can watch your ass in that suit,” Hood comes back, and Red can pretty much assure the guy is smirking.

“I’m a class act, Hood. Ask me to dinner and we’ll talk. Red out.” Because banter here takes that turn, right? He could play.

And Red gently takes out the IVs and ducks under the covers to remove the cath (this is so strange to do to himself. God, he is so going to need to start drinking after this is all said and done). Kon has him completely untied and held in his arms with the blanket wrapped around him by the time the Big Bad does indeed show up.

"Release him immediately," sword in hand, Ra's looks…terrible. Gaunt and barely on his damn feet. Apparently, his initial assessment was spot on; the apocalypse hasn't been good for the League of Assassins either. Well, that's going to make this so much easier than he originally planned. Tons easier.

Red pulls the domino off, baring his face.

"Ra's," he growls, “this is low—even for you."

Those green eyes widen as Red flourishes the staff. "Detective!? Impossible!"

"Oh no. I'm Tim Drake all right, and you look like utter shit. Added bonus, no windows for you to kick me out of down here, so if it's a fight you want, I'm _so_ down for it. Like I wouldn’t be anyway. Oh, PS, I know a Ra’s that’s a lot more on hit game, so please. Try me."

"This is a trick," the immortal snarls, coming at him.

So Red does what he needs to because, really, _he’s on a time crunch, people_, and uses the plan that is not only the fastest, but also the best possible outcomes. He fakes twice and dips low, ducking under the sword, and his hands are liquid and lightening, triggering the progression of pressure points he needs. And Ra's face is frozen in horror, since he knows _all_ about this move, before his body locks up completely.

"Holy shit," Kon says from behind him as Red comes to stand before the leader of the League of Assassins after he’s used his own signature move against him: _the Demon's Trap_.

"You only had to show me once, you know," he snarls, kicking the back of the knees to put him down to them. “And I wasn’t even the one you _used_ it on. Anyway, listen the _first time_, Ra’s, no screwing around. I'm in this world to save it from the Insurgents. In three days, we are going to massively attack and we are **going to win**. Get it? The League of Assassins better come out of their hidey holes to help out or so help me, I'm coming back here. I’m coming back here **pissed off **_after_ I conquer alien shit-heads. You. Don’t. Want. That."

And his arm goes back in a blink, coming down on the Demon Head's sternum with brutal force to release the death hold so the immortal can _breathe_.

Ra's al Ghul sucks in desperately, choking. Those eyes, however, never leave him, and just, dammit. It’s the same look the other one gets whenever Red turns the tables or pulls out some surprise _ah-ha_ contingency, and it’s all about interest. A creepy, obsessive kind of interest that results in, gee his other self getting kidnapped and whatnot. Sigh, two Tim Drakes must be making Ra’s _week_ or something.

Enough, _time crunch, asshole, move it_. "Let's go," Red waves Kon carrying the other Tim Drake out of the room, he turns to follow but a hand snatches at his wings, stopping him in his track (the whirlybird already in hand).

However, Ra's in only holding out a comm unit. "Call," he says hoarsely from almost dying, "we will come."

And Red Robin takes the comm with weapons in his other hand, smiling before he’s gone.

**

In the plane, Kon allows Red Hood and Batman to check their Tim's vitals and just _hold_ the guy they thought was dead the past few months.

(“The League is going to have our back for this stomping aliens shit, but I am _telling you now_: Do. Not. Trust. Ra’s. He will keep coming for that guy for his creepy plots. He wants an heir like mad, and he’s got his eye on Tim Drake, regardless of universe apparently.”

“Tim would never go along with it, he’d fight tooth and nail.” Hood tries, looking up from said other him.

Red makes the point sink in when he looks away from the control panel to meet Hood’s domino and the Bat whiteouts, “_willing_ is a preference, Jason. Not a requirement as far as Ra’s is concerned. Trust me. I _know_ from first-hand experience, he will keep trying and when you think he’s given up is the moment he springs the trap. Next time, your Tim might not be…as intact as he is right now.”

Very quietly, still holding on to the other Tim, Batman quietly asserts, “at some point, not now, I want better details, Red.”

“Not going to happen. That’s traumatize central. Take my word for what it is.” And shit, he shouldn’t have raised the lenses on his mask, but whatever, maybe that’ll give them what they need to take his word as gospel.)

He stays out of the way while piloting the plane back to the Bunker and coding at the same time, pretends to give them as much privacy as possible, but he’s struck again by how much they seem to—to _care_. This Tim is one of the Bat, whole-heartedly, and he’s sure the guy doesn’t have a mass of scars from bullets and knives (no scar at his throat, win for him, seriously, that had…sucked). This other Kon seems to understand on a deeper level as well, to be closer to the Bats than in his world. Jason and Dick touch his shoulders and back in comfort, talk gently to him while he's almost (is) crying in other Tim's hair.

When they land, Dami and O are waiting, obviously twitching in anticipation. Since Kon is shaking so badly, Batman carries their bird down the walkway.

"Tim," Dami's eyes are stricken, watery as he paces right by the Bat, staring unabashedly without his normal domino. His eyes take everything in, glancing back at Red in question only once.

"He's going to come out of it," Red tries to placate everyone at the same time, a hand on Kon's mid-back. "They had to keep him under using drugs and mind games. He kept trying to wake up."

"What did Grandfather do to him, Red?" Dami demands, his voice a whole lot of _knowing_.

"It seems like Ra's was using him to create a code to hide the League from the Insurgents. He was posing the same or similar events that happened out here, just it was in a virtual simulation. And…he thought he was trying to protect you guys from being discovered." Red shrugs a little helplessly as the Bat lays the rescued bird down in the bunker's med bay and removes his cowl to be Dick, worried older brother and ex-lover.

Kon come beside him and leans down to press a kiss to his boyfriend's forehead…when the man in question abruptly wakes up.

And _this_ guy. This guy never hit the growth spurt after he became Red Robin, he's still short but stacked, like Red was when he had the red and black Robin suit. But damn, **_this guy_**.

His hand slips around Kon's neck fast as lightening after months of incapacitation, and he moves in time to bash the meta's face in on the table, up on shaky legs, hands ready to fight, already poised to deliver nerve strikes and **pain**.

"Wow," Red removes the domino, "that's one of my fave nerve strikes, too," he says with a hard grin while Dick, Jason, and Dami just stare and hold up their hands.

Oh yeah, his other self just stops cold, assessing. "What the _fuck_\--?"

"Hi.” He waves a gloved hand, “Tim Drake, multiverse. Luthor's a dick bag. Questions?"

The other Tim straightens from the _kill it_ vibe, arms crossed. "Correct, Luthor is a dick bag."

"Glad some things are universal."

"Indeed. Why are you taller?"

"I ate my vegetables. No, kidding. I hit a growth spurt when I turned seventeen, after Damian got the cape."

"You became Red Robin as well." The eyes are the same color as his, the same calculation when he’s planning another route.

Tim waves a hand down his suit. "B got his ass lost in time; I needed something since Robin was no longer applicable to the situation."

"That…makes sense."

"Sure it does. I had to do things Robin couldn’t. Afterward, I kept the uni since mild mannered Tim Drake can’t be a member of the Titans, make the whole secret ident kind of useless.”

“Each universe must have it’s own differences then.”

“Correct. The Damian from my world is younger and stuff, you know, a non-apocalyptic universe. We, uh, we beat them and your Bats came over since aforementioned dick bag was dabbling in the multiple universe theory. Thus-"

"You came back with them," the shorter man runs a hand through his hair, looking pretty shaky but thinking at his normal speed. And Red gives him time to process since, well, the guy’s had a busy day.

"Okay. How do I know this is real?" He demands after long second.

Dick and Jason exchange a glance and both look back to their bird. Damian groans preemptively since he apparently knows what’s coming.

"Timmy," Jason starts. "Back of the right knee."

Dick hums a little, "middle of your spine."

The guy goes red in an instant, so red he might just pass right out.

Kon just nods sagely, eyeing the two Bats from the side. "_Babe_. That time with Bart, when did _the thing_."

And the guy facepalms, now so red he might just be having an aneurism.

So, no, thanks. He doesn’t need it spelled out any more than that. "Okay. Awkward much? You couldn't have told him, like, B makes his tights with Parisian silk along with the Kevlar or something?"

And yeah, that makes everyone laugh a little. Good.

"Okay. So they are super stoked you're not dead, man. Seriously, these fools were falling all over themselves when I told them, and not to put a damper on ‘hurray, you’re alive’ or anything, but I'm on a time crunch for planning World War III. No offense intended."

And the guy looks at him, gaze sharpening, and yuuup. That expression is all him, too. Another addition to the plan; it’s so nice to have _options_.

"Start talking…ah, me. What's the plan-" but his legs give out abruptly. Kon speeds to keep him from hitting the floor.

Red doesn’t even have to think hard about it. "Well, you need time to recoup. If you're good by go-time, you'll be coordinating the efforts around the world from here with O while I hit the field and command the main effort and access the Mothership in person. But, we still have time to hash everything out. Right now, your guys are going to feed you, probably smother you to death, and catch you up. One of them can come get me when you're ready to get the low down."

Jason and Dick look at him while Dami pulls back the blankets, "okay and what are you going to do?"

"I have to connect with Vic and start on Phase II. Don't worry, Hood, got plenty to keep me busy," he waves a hand while Kon is holding the shorter Tim tight before setting him back down on the medical bed.

Dick is already pulling chairs up to it as Red is heading out the door. He has just a moment to see the three, Jason, Dami, and Dick, engulf the smaller guy completely.

_Hm_, Tim thinks while his counterpart struggles to return the mass of hugs, his hands fisting in Dick’s cape and Damian’s t-shirt, forehead resting against Damian’s shoulder, _productive first day_.

**

After about thirty minutes, he shoos O off to the medical bay for her own _you’re alive, let me **hug** the shit out of you_ moments while he finishes writing up some bad ass encoding. He took a few minutes to check in with Vic in whatever place he’s hold up with the JLA to track how they were doing in the gathering a mass of fighters front, pulling the numbers to fit in with the ever increasing plan and decide on the divisions (he completely leaves out any numbers that may come from his own universe, keeping a separate contingency should anyone show up; doubtful, but you never know).

Once he’s got the code and the mass of mind-blocking whirlybirds ready to be re-programmed, Red gives his laptop a rest and decides to check on what kind of supplies they may be looking at in the bunker. He moves by muscle memory, looking for the hidden door down to the old sub-basement his Dick Grayson had only used for storage (since he had _difficulties_ looking at anything too closely associated with pure Bruce Batman back in those days). Luckily for him, the lower area is still there, and the steps down are still kind of creepy as hell.

He takes mental note of the twelve modified motorcycles, four with the Bat logo, four with the R, and four that probably functioned as civilian transportation. Two Batmobiles under dustcovers, and a few of B’s old ordinary cars for day use; Red gives the familiar Rolls Royce a pat before he moves deeper.

MREs by the truckload, an arsenal of weapons for long range, the missiles for the Bat Planes and Batmobiles, even a few laser weapons probably confiscated from one JLA mission or another, cabinets stored with the customary Bat tricks (some that have been modified in the attempt of taking down the alien enemy), and _fuck_—the glass cases always in the Cave are lined up neatly, completely dark. One of the original Batsuits designed by B and Alfred from the early days, Dick’s first Robin costume (holes torn from his second dance with the Joker or so his Dick had told him once), Jason’s second generation with the short pants instead of the scaly panties, and _his_ first back when he was using real green tights instead of anything reinforced, and…that’s it. Steph’s costume isn’t here, neither is Dami’s, the one with the grey leggings and green combat boots.

For long minutes, he stares at the row, wondering how closely this world aligned with his before the end started. Did Jason get as many hits with the crowbar before the explosion? Did Dick and B have the same drag outs as the catalyst to Nightwing, and did Superman help in defining that persona? Did he follow the Dark Knight and Robin from childhood and figure out the secret at the same time? Did this Tim Drake stand at Jason Todd’s painting, swearing he’d try to be the best Robin, he would _never give up_…?

“Tim!”

Pretty good to sneak up on him like that; well, _Bats_.

Dami holds up both hands in the universal, ‘not dangerous.’ “I called out to you, but you did not respond.”

Old habit, but he scratches the back of his neck, sheepish. “Sorry, just taking a break, seeing what we have in the inventory to work with. Bikes are good, but I’m sure there’s no gas for much—“

“He has tanks, planning from father,” Dami shrugs, coming to stand by Red and look at the cases. “We will be able to use every transportation vehicle here, even both the Batmobiles, I am certain.”

“Good. Everything we have to use just goes to up the odds.”

Arms crossed, the kid nods once.

“All right, what is it?” Red looks away, gives the shorter kid his full attention.

Those green eyes are full of something he’d seen in Damian, something in the up-close-and-personal variety. Anger. The kid is pissed at him

“You—you should not have come here, this is not your fight.” And, _man_, is that sneer just a whole lot of little Damian that Red just channels his blank face in reaction.

“I would go to any universe where the Insurgents won.”

“Dick said the experience for you and your Titans was horrific.”

Okay, maybe a question? “It was,” he agreed.

“You are a fool for running headlong into the same experience.”

Yup, there are the similarities right there.

“I’ve been infected with Scarecrow’s fear toxin multiple times. Each time was worse than the last. It’s only made me more cautious, but I don’t run from him. I had the Clench, almost died. Went after B when he was lost in time, lost my spleen, and a whole lot of other bad shit that terrifies me, but I didn’t _run_. Get it?”

“You are suicidal,” the kid almost spits back at him. “The odds we will win are impossible, Tim. You came here to die.”

And Tim, not Red draws back a little since—nope, not going there. “Seriously? _That’s_ why you think I jumped through the portal? Fuck, Dami. Being a vigilante is a big ‘Stab, Shoot, or Maime Me’ sign, always has been, and I knew that when I took on the cape, but I’m still moving, right? If I really believed your world was done for, I wouldn’t have come and I _sure as hell_ wouldn’t have let you come back either.”

Damian blinks at him, huffing a little when he turns back to the cases. “I—I apologize, Tim. That was…uncalled for.”

“Sure was,” Red draws out instead of letting on how much that last bit shook him up a little. “But, you know, alien invaders, dying family, multiverse travel, been a low row of shitty days for you. I definitely get that.” He sighs for a second, staring at the holes in that first Robin suit. “For what it’s worth, I’m confident we’ve got this. I’d feel better if I had more alien-blocking whirlybirds, but I’ll work with what I’ve got.”

“Give the design to Victor. He may be able to see more produced. The JLA still has some pull in the universe.” The kid shrugs.

“Already have. He’s going to do what he can, along with getting more neural disruptors. I’m keep the _worst case scenario_ as the default, make sure we’re prepared.” Quick glance at the youngest Robin’s clenched jaw, “Want to tell me the real reason you’re down here instead of hanging out with your brother?”

“Tt. He is already catching up and would like to speak with you at your convenience.”

_Sure. You don’t lie well. _“That was fast. Geeze, the guy could give himself a few to let it all sink in.”

Dami just shrugs a shoulder, “the similarities between the two of you are obvious, Tim. I suspect you would be the same in this situation—wishing to do whatever you were able help. He is foolishly selfless, a Bat trait I have come to learn.”

“It’s a good thing, you know,” Red says out of nowhere, “that you’ve got his back. That they do.”

“Hm, perhaps should we all live through this, you may find we will _have your back_ as well. My brothers especially, you realize.”

And that…is a whole lot of _say what again?_ but the kid is giving him a knowing look, one eye brow arching.

“Whoa, uh, I didn’t do…_that_ in my universe. Totally platonic, okay?” _Right. Hero worshipping crushes stopped after Dick thought you should visit Arkham and not for the crime fighting, right? Jason after he slit your throat that one time? Yeah, figured shit out quickly._

But Red’s…well, not even fooling himself.

“Tt. The other _me_ must be an idiot not to see it, Tim. To your credit, you hide it well.”

“I am not—“_hoping for that_—“here for that, you know? Saving the world is the big goal here, Dami. It’s enough of a distraction.”

The kid hums a little, still has _the look_.

And why it’s so easy for him to say the words out loud to this version of the kid who pretty much wanted to tap dance on his grave, Red will never know, but the words just fall out of him. “I can’t have that. Why would I try for it here, get it, and then lose it? Fuck, why would I do that to myself?”

He seems as surprised as Red that the truth comes to the fore, blinking up at him with those green eyes. And Dami, Dami just turns to face him instead of the cases, grips his bicep so he’s looking down at the kid with a whole lot of _me and my big mouth_ and no domino_._

“Tim,” and that voice is low, deeper than he’s heard it so far, “this life…is difficult for any of us, invading aliens notwithstanding. I have learned, before and after the invasion, that we must take what _happiness_ we are able to find, wherever we are able to find it, else we will die knowing nothing but duty. I would not want that for you.”

Red just stares down him, a little lost at that, hands tight by his sides.

“My brothers would gladly give you something of which you may hold…well, to be quite honest, would I believe you could allow me in your bed, I would as well. There are many ways to show acceptance, Tim.”

While his brain is trying to process _everything that Damian just told him_, the kid gives a sharp smile, eyes taking a slow sweep of Red’s body, head to foot, and pats his bicep gently. “Consider what I have said.”

His brain still hasn’t come up with a very good reaction as Damian is turning on his heel and leaving Red in the dim.

**

Jason is diligently making a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich when Red has his shit together enough to come up from the sub-basement.

“Baby Bird,” and the guy smiles at him fondly, making his stomach do that _thing_ now that he doesn’t have twelve different other directions to turn his mind. “Making a sammie for Tim, you like strawberry or grape?”

“Strawberry, man. Grape is like a crime against jelly,” he tries for light banter, putting Dami’s little talk to the back of his mind for the time being, but _“so I can watch that ass in that suit_.” He passed it off as banter to ease the situation, but _really_…?

Right. Red puts his back to the counter, crossing his arms over his chest unconsciously. “How does he seem to be doing?”

Jason gives a half-hearted shrug, “it’s Tim, so processing, internalizing, the usual. He’s…better when he’s got other things to focus on. Momentum just seems to give him an excuse to deflect bad shit, put it out of his mind until the mystery is solved.”

Wow, similarities much? Red has to look down since he knows he’s smirking like an asshole.

“At least he let us talk about, you know, when B went missing in time. Seems to forgive us for everything, so I’m not complaining. Nothing worse than having that guy pissed off at you.”

“Yeah?”

“I like sleeping with both eyes closed,” Jason glances over a him again, that grin lighter than Red’s seen him since they met and just makes all the planes of his face softer somehow, but still, under the surface of that mask, Red can see the toll his trials have taken. Jason Todd, this Jason Todd just like this Dick Grayson, have had too many bads that outweigh the good. And he knows, from first-hand experience that the eventual fallout from all those bads would be damaging to them both, could break them in the long run. It would be better if—and the idea hovers in the back of his mind, a possibility.

“I think it’s a Bat standard,” Red replies seriously, rolling the idea around, “to be a nasty bastard when you need to be.”

At that, Jason rolls out with a deep belly laugh, eyes crinkling in mirth. “Seriously? _Red_, I have a whole section of know-how dedicated to being _a nasty bastard,_ and it ain’t got nothing to do with being a vigilante, you feel me?”

And…flirting again. Shit. Jason Todd, the Red Hood, should so not being flirting with him, but damn it if he—“I have absolute faith that you have volumes, man. Just, a dedicated library, right?”

And fucking _Jason_, gets a whole different light in those eyes, “you better be careful, Baby Bird,” the taller man wields the butter knife, pointing close to his nose, “I’m pretty sure I can figure out all the catches and traps to that suit in record time.” And he licks, _licks_ the jelly off the knife while staring right into Red’s eyes before taking the first sandwich and turning away.

“Eat that so Dick doesn’t get pissed we’re over-working you…well, the boring, save the world, kind of work anyway.”

He blinks down at the second sandwich still sitting on the counter then up at Jason’s retreating back down the hallway; as if he _knows_, the guy looks back and winks before rounding the corner.

Red’s face heats so fast he’s actually kind of worried he might pass out, but his brain does an immediate _halt_ when a whole new level of implications hit him and the idea starts to flesh out. There’s a need here to fill, something that might be just as important as winning a war. He breathes out a little, staring down the now-empty hallway with the haunted look in Jason and Dick’s eyes in the forefront of his mind. And as he is wont to do, the idea starts turning into a rudimentary plan to fix the problem takes shape, becomes _solid_. He needs the opportunity, but as far as plans go…not bad.

**

He knows that expression. It’s the same one he cultivated after his own instance of _kidnap the powerful CEO_. Odd that their experiences are lining up so similarly and yet different at the same time. At least he’s got the other Kon sitting right by him, holding on to his hand, and pulling him out of his head at intervals. Red had the Titans to worry about, moving forward to the next big bad to keep him from the backlash.

They both look up sharply when he raps on the doorframe.

“Hey.” Both hands up in a _look, not dangerous_ kind of way, “I can come back later if—“

“No,” his counterpart immediately denies, “come in. Please.”

He does, still thrown by being suited up without a domino, but well, why bother when everyone present knows who he is anyway?

“Dami said you wanted to talk,” and Tim just gives a small smile and sits down in one of the chairs around the bed.

The other Tim nods once, a jerky motion. “I need deets, Tim.”

“Red,” he replies, “so we don’t get all mixed up, you know? You can just call me Red—less complicated. So, the plan is still in stages,” (_no, it’s not_), “by tomorrow morning, I’m going to have enough of a basis to pull you in. Until then, you’re going to sleep eight full hours and recover. We have three days until the big starts anyway, so you’ve got time.”

“I don’t need—“

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Red just gives him a patient look, “I was kidnapped in my world. By Ra’s, yes, but I always got myself out before crazy shit happened. The last one…it was bad. I had to do things to keep from compromising my ident. Not proud of it, but everything worked out at the end of the day, so _no_, you’re not fine, _yes, _you do need time, and _yes_, you’re going to take it. No helping to save the world until you’ve had at least a night or two to cope.”

And _this guy_, his eyes narrow dangerously, hand tightening on Kon’s, “what happened?”

“Some very bad men wanted a Wayne Enterprises product. They didn’t get it.”

“Holy shit—“

“They kidnapped me as Tim Drake, not Red. Like I said, I’ve been there.”

“How—“

“I don’t talk about it.” He cuts off that line of questioning before it even starts. “I got myself out, got back to my team, took down the bad guys. That’s all there is to say.”

But those two do some kind of couple’s mind meld thing where their eyes roll to each other without turning their heads (and it’s just fucking strange because he and his Kon do that, too, just, you know, not in the ‘that’s my boyfriend’ sort of way).

“Okay, how about just the general outline?” The other Tim tries after a long moment of silence, already laying back on the pillows. “Give me something here.”

“Hm. General info: B is still the Bat, he called me to the Cave when your Bats hit my world. I was just supposed to figure out the coordinates so they could come back. They got into the story of how _you_ supposedly died and afterwards the Insurgents won. They asked for the strategy the Titans used, so I called my team together and we went into the step-by-step, tried to give them everything we could to bring back, but,” and Red sighs a little. “The Mind Field…I had to make the sacrifice play to crack their systems, insert the virus, code on the fly. Not proud of it, but there were no other options or time.”

“Your team took on the bulk of the attack,” the other Tim’s voice is softer, a little less _I’m freaked out but rescued so…spectacularly failing to cope right now_.

“Yes. Cassie…yeah. None of them escaped without an effect. Cassie got it the worst out of everyone. Bart and Kon had to relive each other’s deaths; Raven lived through the time BB almost got torn apart by his shape shifting ability while he and Miguel got a whole lot of Trigon’s last attempt to kill her… none of it was good.”

“Cassie?”

“Wonder Girl, Cassie Sandsmark.”

“What did she have to experience?”

“…my kidnapping. Some of it. Well, I’m pretty sure she got the bulk of the bad, which sucks, really, no one—anyway, I was able to use the Mind Field as a cover to crack the main neural net hub. This time is going to be different since there are obvious anomalies here that aren’t in my world, but I have a plan mapped out on how to do it.” Since he would have to get to the Mothership this time, just going through the Mind Field isn’t going to work, won’t give him the access he needs now that these invaders are a hell of a lot more settled on Earth. Nope, he had to go big or go home.

The other guy is looking at him with eyes half-mast, settling into the data like he already knows how the plan is taking shape. Maybe he does. Counterpart after all.

Kon, however, is the next one to talk, “they all…survived?”

Red comes close to flinching but keeps himself in control, “yes. All of my people made it out. Once the virus hit, their neural fields pretty much gave out, so their flying crafts, suits, traps, all of it failed. We made it out.”

And this too thin, too broken Kon-El just suddenly has wet eyes that are wide and blinking, like he’s trying _not_ to break. “I—I couldn’t get them _out_. By the time I got there, the haze had lifted and they were just _gone_.”

Fuck. He hadn’t had the chance to see what happened to someone that just _died_ while trapped, so he immediately feels for the guy, the same ache in his chest when Dami told him over the phone the Titans hadn’t made it.

“There’s no way you _could_ have gotten to them, Kon. That’s why the Mind Field is their best weapon: it feeds off anything with a _brain_. Even if you’d have gone in after them, the field would have trapped you right along with them and you would have died too. There was no other way to save them, man. I’m—I’m sorry.” (And yes, a quick exchange with the other quickly-getting-more-tired Tim tells that guy what he needs to know; there could have been other ways, there could have been other _plans_, but for this Kon’s peace of mind, neither of them are going to let him in on that secret).

“You were able to—“

“I had Raven and Bunker shielding me and even that was a wing and a prayer,” he counters gently, “the field registered my unconscious thoughts but not my forefront. That’s how I was able to infiltrate their systems. Even then, I was still caught in the same loop as everyone else. _I_ experienced the other’s memories too, I could just divide my consciousness to work the coding where it was needed. Without knowing what you were up against, there’s no way you could have done anything, Kon. I’m serious, man. That wasn’t your fault, and I’m glad you didn’t die with them. If they were here, they’d say the same. You’re alive now to fight.”

The super takes a shuddering breath, staring down at his hand wrapped around his Tim’s, not at all convinced, Red’s sure, but at least he knows a little more about what the hell happened, how everything went all kinds of wrong. Once this whole war thing is over and done, the fallout with these guys is going to be hell if they both lived to see it.

“To help with this save the world plan, I need you both—“ and now he has their attention, other Tim’s eyes moving but little else, “to focus on being right here, right now. You’ve both survived to this point, and,” he grins a little, “you have each other to lean on. That’s a whole lot of good…I’m not going to lie. The odds aren’t good, never seem to be really, but I’m confident. All the people that have fallen, we’re going to make sure they didn’t do it in vain.”

And Kon blinks at him then a half-smile takes over his face, “wow, man. I can see why the Titans follow _you_, right? Go team and shit.”

The other Tim, closing his eyes, huffs out a little laugh as well, and his weight is pliant as he slips away, giving in to exhaustion.

“Yup. Usually my pom-poms are stored in my other wing pack, so you totally aren’t getting to see the full effect.”

And Kon gives in, laughing quietly, and looking down at the other Tim with genuine happiness, holding on to that hand like he's never letting go again.

Just watching, Red is struck again with the realization: they've done good today and the night isn’t even over.

**

Standing, Red leaves them to themselves, leaves Kon to cling and his counterpart to hold on, to shake, and be grateful he's alive.

Instead, Red goes down further down the hall to the Bunker, the room he was given and let's himself in, falling back against the door to just breathe, head back. He allows his mind to release the rigid hold on its processes, he just lets go.

He gets approximately eight and a half minutes before the soft knock by his head jars him out of his headspace. It's an unconscious reminder that he's got shit to do, no time to let himself sink into the what-ifs concerning one Kon-El.

Like someone is playing a joke (or a higher power helping out with a whole different plan), Dick is on the other side of the door, smiling softly down at him, cowl shoved back, tired and content.

"Hey Baby Bird, brought you some civvies." And it's a worn pair of sweats and t-shirts, obviously Dick's by the look of that old Gotham Knights logo.

"Thanks," and he opens the door to let him in, closing it so he can turn, and be grateful for something more comfortable to wear once he actually gets down to coding the whirlybirds. "Glad we got him back, man. You know-"

"We never would have known if you hadn't come, Tim.” Again, a completely different Dick Grayson, one that doesn’t cover up with jokes, one that has a rawness to his honesty. One that doesn’t have a the support system he needs. One that could be better if only—

“I…there's no words to express how much I, we, appreciate everything.”

For just a second, he stares into those eyes and finally lets out a breath. As much as it’s going to suck for him later, if he survives the up-coming _big bad_, his mostly-formed plan to make sure this Dick Grayson is taken care of, that he will have a reason to _lose _that look, that beat-to-shit-by-the-world vibe, is going to start right here, right now.

“The second you came to the Perch, I knew I was coming here, Dick. You weren’t going to stop me.”

The man softens a little, smiling, “You are…incredible, you know?"

And Dick, this Dick that had seen the potential in his Tim, that hadn't taken Robin, but asked it be freely given, a gift, is staring down at him with those blue, blue eyes and that fond expression with just _this_ much heat in the assessment; the contrast with the Dick Grayson he knew- this is a man that would never ask for what he needed, but a man that would just give until he had nothing left. He really is a better Batman than Red could ever be (maybe better than the other Dick could be), this Dick Grayson could make the Batman a figure of power and protection in a way Tim Drake would never, could never do.

And he must be staring with what Kon calls his calculating look because this Dick shivers slightly in the Batsuit, causing ripples in the cape over his shoulders.

"Heh, me? This from the guy that would have passed up an asset in the fight to save his world just to keep me from living through it all again." And the face he'd made in the Perch, the sacrifice for Tim’s safety, his sanity; this man would fight with his last breath. "You could tell how bad it was, couldn't you?"

And now, they're almost on top of one another, Tim looking up into that face, those eyes that hadn't had warmth, hope in too long, one that couldn't start to believe yet. And shit, the plan is pretty good one as far as it goes, as long as it changes that despair into something better.

Without needing to say anything, Dick nods gently, eyes taking in Tim's bare face like he wants to memorize everything.

"I survived. It's okay," the younger assures, tone a little hoarse. “And I’m going to do everything to make sure we all survive this.” _I’m going to try to make sure you have something worth fighting for_. When Dick breathes deep, the Kevlar and armor meet.

And like he can't help himself, that gloved hand comes up, cups the side of Tim's face in the cool supple feel and smell of leather.

"You might be the most selfless man I've ever met," the older man confesses, leaning down just a little, so his too long hair brushes against Tim's other cheek. "I can't even begin to be amazed at how strong you are, to keep adapting, to keep moving forward. Tim-"

And now his heart is beating too hard in his chest because the air is just charged with something so _different_ than what it was moments ago; his own hand is rising before his brain can either keep up or end all processes, and he grips the back of Dick's neck, fingers sliding into the hair falling almost down to those broad shoulders.

Dick feels it too, just as strongly because the vestiges of heat start taking over the blue.

"I'm sorry in advance," and Tim can feel the breath against his mouth, "I'm sorry, but I can't—Tim, I need to just…just _once_-"

And he’s the one that rises up just enough so the lips against his are softer than they have a right to be, the taste of _please_ right there, perfectly pressed against his own mouth, warm and inviting and utterly _perfect_ while they tilt their heads to find the right combination before Tim's mouth falls open and he swallows Dick's groan right down into his chest, sucks it into himself because this man…this Dick Grayson wants, needs so much. He's been starved of this…maybe just as much as Tim has.

And the heat and warmth and wet turns into hands and the sharp planes of body and skin. The harness is deactivated, falling into Tim's hand, then to the floor. His gauntlets and gloves dropped while they draw back for breath, and wordlessly come back for more, becoming deeper, hotter, more intense. Bare hands on his face, his neck, the first layer of body armor on the floor by the harness, Dick's cowl and cape a puddle of darkness by his feet.

Tim's hands already know where that zipper should be in the back, pulls it down even if he's half afraid of taking this too far, of getting too deep, hurting this man, hurting himself rather than doing the right thing because it’s Murphy’s Law sometimes in the plan: shit just goes the other way from where it’s supposed to. But Tim Drake, Red Robin, always tries his damnest to have a contingency plan--

"Hey kids," and the door is shoved open abruptly, Jason's voice settled in contentment.

—And it just walks into the room. The universe is apparently totally with him on this.

Tim automatically turns them, puts himself in front of Dick, the fight instinct, the _protect_ instinct because, well, _Bat_.

And Jason pauses, caught in a horrible moment of indecision, green eyes wide, taking everything in: swollen, red lips, pieces of suits discarded, the zipper down along Dick's back, and the sharp v-ee of Tim's bare chest in just the body suit.

And in those eyes, he can see it: Jason would smile and walk out, let them continue, let them find whatever it is they both need in one another; he, just like this Dick would sacrifice his own happiness for the person, the people, he loved. The people that mattered, even for those that didn't. He would fight to give them what they needed.

"Jay," and Tim's hand is shaky, rising, open, beckoning. The plan just changed, just got bigger, more important. "_Jason_."

The wealth behind it sinks into Jason Todd's bones, in his blood and viscera. This isn't the Tim Drake he's known for years, the Tim Drake he used to hold and touch and bring to completion. This man had a completely different kind of strength, a mind all his own with a set of complexities and contrasts. This man let the other Red Hood beat him and break him to be what was needed, helped the other heal the only way he knew how: sacrifice.

And the Jason he is now knows he's a bad, bad man for wanting this, for already responding to the two with the hard press against his uniform. This man isn't _theirs_. They can't just _keep_ him; intellectually, he know this, knows it with everything he is since his body rebels at the thought of this Tim Drake leaving, dying, bleeding. But none of that stops the _want_.

He's already closed the door, fallen back against it, thumbing the lock before he realizes what his body is doing (_trapping them in, keeping others out_).

"Tim," and he has to swallow to try again, clearing out the obvious plea. "Say it. You have to say it."

And Dick, that _motherfucker_, cheats, leans down with his eyes still on Jason, rolling to keep his gaze while his mouth moves over the chords of Tim's neck, mouthing the skin down to the curve of shoulder (one of Jason's favorite spots as Dick surely remembered from their own time together before the world ended).

"I want you both," and the voice is deep, sinking into the two Bats like a benediction. "Not him, not the other Dick. I want _you_, who you are, who I see right in front of me. God help me, but I do." And Tim is just breathing harder with the heat of those green eyes taking him in, every inch. Dick's hand slides around his hip, mouth working his throat, licking him, sucking, and finding the zipper right at his ribs to drag it down the rest of the way below his belly button so the under shorts are black against the curve of hip.

"I can't make promises after everything," is his way of giving these two an out, to let them stop if they know where he stands. "But for tonight, I want you both for the right reasons. For you, not the two men I left behind."

And _that_ is apparently what Jason Todd wants to hear. Before he even realizes he's moved, he's across the room with two hands full of Baby Bird, and the taste of Tim Drake is better than he originally imagined, distinct differences between their Tim and this one is the obvious undertone of coffee and blood, the tinges of metal. And Jason is just so hungry for it, tongue sweeping around that mouth, swallowing the noises of capitulation with burning need.

He pulls away from Tim's mouth to breathe, and one of those smaller, dexterous hands tilt his chin up slightly so—he and Dick are close, both pressing into Tim.

"Big Bird," he can feel Dick breathing hard against Tim's back.

"Little Wing," and there, in that undercurrent, is also what he needs to hear. Dick still _wants_ him, maybe never stopped. And Jason's eyes are half-mast as he closes the distance over Tim's shoulder and just, God. _God_.

Dick tastes the same, still has soft lips and an agile tongue. Still makes him _fucking need_. One hand on Tim's neck, the other comes to the back of Dick's and pulls him closer, turning him to the right angle so he can get with the program.

Sliding out from between the two, Tim takes advantage of the distraction to slip behind Dick and pull the zipper in back down to his ass, pushing the reinforced Batsuit off his shoulders. Without breaking the kiss with Jason, Dick pulls his arms out and uses both hands to cup Jason's face in his palms. His body coming into full awareness with visceral memory since it’s _Jason_ and it had been so long, too long.

Tim moves behind Jason next, sliding his hands between their bodies to find the next zipper and pull. His hands flit inside, pulling the reinforced suit back over the shoulders, Jason rolling with it, arms back so his shoulders and chest can be bare under their gazes, under their hands.

"Boots," is Tim's voice behind Jason because, yeah, Batsuits are a bitch when all you want to do is get naked.

In the middle, Jason gets hold of both, pretty much dragging them to the bed, but it's Tim that shoves them down, kneeling to pull off both pairs so the two can shove reinforced material down their legs while he pulls off his own and stands. The two are on him before he gets fully vertical, Dick is at his mouth while Jason gets his body suit down to his waist…and stills.

Jason sucks in a choking breath.

_Fuck_. He remembers immediately, eyes flying open, and Dick pulls back in question, staring at the suddenly blank expression.

"I, uh, can wear a shirt," Tim's eyes veer away from Dick's intense gaze, already stepping one foot out from between them. Jason's hand on his biceps stops him cold, a hard, almost brutal hold. _Fuck. Okay, contingency._

"Who. Did. This?" And the fingers of the other hand are so gentle in contrast, tracing the horrible array of scars from his little vacay with the White Triad.

"I," he swallows, flinching when Dick leans around him, pressing their chests together to look at what Jason’s seeing. He, too, stills, holding his breath a little. "I don't talk about it."

"Your Bats-?"

"Don't know," he answers quickly. "I was kidnapped once, as Tim Drake. Not as Red Robin. It's…a long story." And yeah, Bats had scars, par for the vigilante course. But, his back is a mass of white lines and tissue damage from being whipped and burned and, you know, _tortured_ for days. Most of them were probably faded with time, but-.

"I should-" _go, put on a shirt, plan to save your world, smack my head off the wall for forgetting_ _and possibly losing this chance but you two **stay here and continue**_._ Seriously, you both need it. Remember what you had together, be there for one another._

That hard hand turns him, Jason's expression fierce and those eyes predatory. He fists a hand in Tim's hair, and the kiss is harder, full of teeth and biting and licking. It literally takes Tim’s breath away with the want and need right under the surface.

_Game on._

Dick's hands push the rest of his suit down his legs, and that _mouth_ starts moving over the skin of his back, tracing the white lines with lips and tongue, warm and wet and just _fuck, why would he **do **that?_

He pulls back, gasping, eyes wide at the touch, how sensitive and…God it had been so long, too long since he let himself have and be had. But Tim just leans in, both hands in Jason’s hair to pull him down, latching on the pulse in Jason's neck, biting, sucking, licking, rolling the taste around, listening to the noises, feeling the vibrations in his own chest.

His leg is tapped, and the last of his clothes come off, leaving Tim bare in front of these two while his hands roam the planes of Jason's body, fingering the hips, sliding in the shorts for skin and the heat.

Dick takes his arm, turns him again, mouth on his neck while Jason takes the other side, pressing him between them and the heat, the slide of skin too much to hold back gasps, noises coming from deep in his chest because _God_…

His hands are on them both, gripping Jason's hip, running up Dick's chest to thumb the nipples hard.

"Bed, no clothes. Now." He demands pushing at them both.

The low, deep laughter mixed with lust makes him shiver, his eyes take in the arch of Dick's back when he pulls the under armor over his head and off. Then there is the lean, sinewy strength of Jason's abdomen as he does the same. His mouth waters when they turn in tandem, sly grins over their shoulders and doing exactly what he wants, crawling over the covers to watch him.

"Christ, how you move, Baby Bird," Jason whispered.

"Keep watching," Tim replies, moving them to lie next to one another so he can kneel between them, hands starting on a leg each, "I'm going to give you a show."

**

Much later, Tim is already finished planning Phase II, accessing the Mothership, and re-encoding the virus. Phase III is the cleanup once shit gets real, or that the invaders are vulnerable without their neural net and tech. He takes a moment to look over at the two men in the bed, and Jason looks almost boyish in his sleep with the former deep lines in his face relaxed; behind him, Dick has an arm around his waist hand gently on his chest, pressing tightly against his back. The two look so utterly peaceful, snuggling together closely, like they should always have been side-by-side, should have been all along. The lines and planes of their bodies are perfectly aligned as if they hadn't had a good night sleep in a long time. Pressed against one another, they’re hitting some hard REM, and it shows.

With a moment of indecision and a worse moment of heartache, Tim realizes he's done well in bringing the plan to fruition. Giving himself over allowed him to bring those two back together, so when he has to return to his own world (or dies, worst case scenario), at least they'll have one another again since the two just had a bad case of Bat stubborn asshole and refused to take what they needed to be happy (thanks for the advice, Dami). It would be fine. He couldn’t do much for them, but at least, he could give them an excuse to have each other.

In his usual fashion, the plan always comes together.

**

He gently closes the door when his internal clock tells him the sun will be up soon, not even thinking of waking the two. In a few days, they'd be in for the fight of their lives, so they'd need as much sleep as possible (_damn, he's sore_) and Tim goes down to the kitchen with his coffee and laptop, searching through cabinets until he finds a dusty relic in the back.

The command center of the Bunker is empty this early, so he uses the filtered water to wipe off the machine and make a heavenly pot while setting up his laptop and going from the big computer to his own, crunching numbers, comparing his results from the Insurgent's system and finally setting up the whirlybirds and disruptors for recalibration.

O is the first one up, her wheels silent.

"Is that _coffee_?" She whispers, eyes wide.

Tim laughs, standing, stretching before he moves to pour her a mug full.

"You are my new hero," she claims as she accepts the mug and starts drinking immediately, moaning in pleasure at the first taste.

"If you're a good Oracle and check my calibrations, I'll give you a second cup. Maybe a third." He grins at her while they both look back to his work and drink coffee.

Dami is next, scrubbing a hand down his face as he comes in, pausing with the Bat stillness before also whispering, "Coffee?"

Tim waves a hand toward the pot while deep in conversation and tweaking code. He glances over in time to see the genuine happiness on Dami's face after the first sip and smiles to himself.

With O delving into his code, he finally stands to pour her another mug full and refill Dami's (grinning at the absurdly grateful look) and fills two mugs with the last of the pot. He promptly puts on another.

"All right, review the codes while I play hero," he carries the mugs down the long hallway, balancing all three when he turns the corner, coming to the door.

Soft talking on the other side, and he uses his fingertips to turn the knob.

Dick and Jason are sitting up, ready to fight.

"Just me," he soothes, using a foot to shut the door.

"Is that _coffee_?" Jason breathes, eyes wide; Dick’s brows are almost into his hairline.

His mug goes down on the metal desk, Tim hums, carrying the other two over. Both Bats accept, first drink taken immediately.

"I expect proper hero worship for remembering to bring some," he deadpans, pulling up the chair beside the bed to sit and drink his own.

Jason levels him with a dirty grin, "climb back in this bed, Baby Bird. Dick and I would be happy to show you the meaning of the word."

Tim grins back, "Dami and Babs are up. Besides, I need to go check on Kon and your Tim soon. But, you're both such good heroes, I thought you deserved coffee."

Dick chuffs a genuine laugh coming from deep in his chest. "Hear that, Little Wing? _Good_ not mind-blowing. We're going to have to do better than that."

Jason's arm slides around Dick's ribs, his eyes going darker as he leans down against the side of Dick's neck. And just…_fuck_. Tim swallows hard, eyes for the two of them being like this, just…wow.

"We can definitely do better Big Wing," and that deep voice already starts Tim's pulse kicking.

"I'm going to be such a bad, bad man with you two," he admits huskily. "But we're not going to traumatize anyone. Well, yet."

"C'mere," Dick soothes, "we'll make it fast, then shower and check on everyone, okay? You can go back to being this war-staging guru and we’ll leave you long enough to make _plans_."

And the sheet is pulled away, Dick's morning erection standing up proudly against his body that Tim draws in a deep breath, eyes already falling half-mast.

His eyes on Tim, Jason turns Dick's face and they're kissing, tongues moving, soft noises, gentle touch, and just... He’s not made of _stone_.

Without thinking too hard, Tim has the empty mugs out of their hands, putting them on the table and locking the door before he comes back.

"I am _such_ a bad man," he says more to himself while stripping the shirt over his head and joining the two on the bed. But, dammit if the plan isn’t already working.


	3. Chapter 3

Hell yeah.

At the meeting point, Red and the Bats are tight for this. T and O are already warming up, connecting with forces in place over the globe. Ra's and his people are on the way, Lantern Corps decided in a vote to throw their lot in with Earth so hella more fighters than he counted on (win, thanks Hal) and are already dividing themselves to the hot spots.

In less than an hour, the other forces stationed in New York would be arriving and the portal to his world would open. Red keeps himself carefully optimistic on the off chance some of the more suicidal groups would show, but they aren't in the main plan.

Before go-time, he's already prepping, double checking his wrist computer, his wing pack, making sure he's stocked to the nines (he’d already made sure Dick, Dami, and Jay’s belts were already full, natch), and the whirlybirds for the fighters are laid out in the back of the unassuming van. The Bats would start handing them out when the forced started showing up.

When he finally takes a step back, Dick is there to touch the back of his neck, looking down.

The last two days have been…a mix of terrible and incredible. He's scoped out the remains of Gotham and even come to the Big (burnt out) Apple to get readings as close to the Mothership as he dared only to come back to the Bunker and be attacked by the worried group. It was, to say the least _odd_; these people had experienced the end of their world, had their own family connections, and were still concerned enough to mass attack him with hugs and demands if he had any injuries, faced any aliens, tripped into any other dimensions, yada yada (well, if the guy saving _your_ world vanished before the saving part, wouldn't you be worried?).

And it was so strange because he'd been coming and going without this for a long time, even as the first kind of Robin when he was sent off to train and later Jean Paul had the mask, hell even after Bruce came back. Sure, they worked together (well when they did, great detecting minds and whatever) but after he took on the new role, stayed away, kept to the Tower and the Perch, so the concern became an afterthought, no big deal. Having it shoved more or less in his face is a little uncomfortable and bittersweet at the same time. Like his counterpart, he finds himself clenching Dick's cape and Jay's jacket, laughing a little in Dami's shoulder when they look so fucking _relieved_ he’s back.

The whirlybirds ready, Vic promised he'd have another three thousand at least by go-time, already calibrated and a few thousand disruptors. The ones he has are ready, the plans mapped out, calculated forced divided depending on factors of alien population and rank of hovering death ship (the other him was pretty impressed with the scale, too), he's left catching T up on everything to coordinate and exploring the hidden undergrounds of _holy shit Gotham!_ For anything else they could use (and no, since they all have their eyes on him now, he's barely gone to the bathroom by himself. All of you, _take a pill_).

In between work and prep and answering his counterpart's numerous questions about his life and events that lead to where he is today, Jason and Dick snag him out of the hallway or attack when they're in the kitchen alone, steal with him downstairs to "check" on the B-ride (or to be stripped down and pushed against it or straddling Dick's lap inside it with Jason watching, waiting for his turn in the passenger seat: also hot. Jason bet he wouldn't have been able to squeeze between the wheel and Dick, _sucker_).

Now, he’s got to trust their skills and hope they all survive. Odds are with them if the plans are as solid as he calculates, and, well, if he’s as good at cracking alien code as he was last time.

He finally breathes, everything as ready as he can make it. Dick and Jason talk softly to him while Dami makes a final check.

“We have faith in you, you know,” Jason is saying, holding the helmet in one hand, the disc on his chest glowing lazily.

Red gives him a grim smile, “me too. This is going to go well. Causalities are going to be unavoidable, so no unnecessary chances, okay? Stick to the plans.”

The Batman, cowled and ready to rock, leans down, presses their mouths together, a quick swipe of his tongue inside Red’s mouth, just a hint of taste. For consistency, he repeats the process with Hood.

“For good luck.” And Red can imagine him winking behind the lenses.

Dami makes a noise in the back of his throat, “you two have already corrupted him enough. Red, make these two toe the line.”

“Baby Bat, like I’d give them a free pass for just about anything,” and Red grins over at him, but Dami clearly hesitates, domino in hand. “You, too, you know.”

“…”

“What is it?” Red moves away from the older Bats, coming to stand in front of a version of himself because _that costume_.

Quietly, the younger kid just comes out with, “Brother…Not Baby Bat.”

His heart gives a hard little beat and Red raises a gloved hand to Dami’s neck, thumb rubbing across his pulse. “I get it, little brother. We’re gonna be tight for this, right?”

And the kid chuffs a laugh, his eyes brighter than before, “since you have a knack for not dying, I suppose so.”

**

Whoa. Just, _whoa_.

Unexpected.

The utter mass of heroes coming through that portal is just, again, _whoa_. The Bats from his world were among the first out, obviously looking through the crowd of this world’s gathered fighters looking for…well, whatever, probably gauging their surroundings, making plans of their own because, _Bats_. In a crazy twist, he didn’t expect them to come, so the plan changes with the mass ton of skill sets that are still coming through that portal.

And then—

“It’s BIRDY! Holy SHIT! Hey **_BIRDY_**!” A shrill voice makes him wince internally because _The Suicide Squad?_ Whose idea was it to…? His eyes dart to his world’s B and Superman looking at one another over the group of villains. And surprise, surprise, Red Arrow is giving him a wave from over by Kori and the other world Jason Todd, already suited up with a lot more guns than normal.

_Fantastic…hm, actually, this could be promising. Very much so._

Deadshot, Harley Quinn, Enchantress, Nightshade, Rick Flag, Killer Crock, El Diablo, and Slipknot (hm, Boomerang is suspiciously absent, small miracles since _that guy_) are all in a group that is pointedly given space by the still climbing through Green Lantern corps from his world and _oh hey, All Stars, Doom Patrol, Dark Stars, **and** the Justice Society?_ Wow, not enough hot dogs for everyone.

“Harley,” he greets while keeping an eye on the slowly appearing heroes from around this world as well, “nice you guys could make it to the party. We will totes have a piñata later.”

She laughs that high-pitched, half-_nuts_ (completely nuts) sound, “it’s a _fight_, Birdy! We couldn’t just sit it out!”

“Good to know. Actually, I’m glad you’re here. I can work with your brand of crazy. Actually, I’m pretty damn sure I know exactly where you can unleash it.”

Deadshot just gives him a raised brow, and Red grins back at him, wrist computer already raised to project a map of New York. “Once the fighting starts, I need all of you concentrated here.” Now all of them are leaning forward, eyes on the map. “And you can just tear into some alien assholes to your little hearts’ desires. Seriously, have fun. Don’t die, don’t kill any of our allies, but put some _feeling_ into your rage.”

“You mean,” El Diablo states for the record, “we can kill them? Like, for real? No getting more time for it?”

“Absolutely. Watch the mind powers and stuff, but yeah, I give you total permission _this one time_ for all of you to do what you do best against these guys. Wait for the signal, though. I sure as hell don’t need anyone tipping them off before everything is in place.”

“Fucking. **_Sweet_**.” Rick Flag says it all right there.

Red just waves them away after giving them some comms; he takes a second to appreciate the other Bats handing out his tech where they can, re-setting comms to different frequencies depending on where Red’s going to have them. Masses are already flying out to take point in the other four locations, waving as they take off.

“Red!” Cyborg from his world breaks off from the rest of the other world JLA.

Red shakes the offered hand, “thanks for coming, man. Seriously, I didn’t expect the turnout.”

“Hey, who’s going to miss a good party like _this_? We get to break another world that _isn’t_ ours?” Well, Red hadn’t considered that, but okay. “_Especially_ when you send out such great invites,” the guy laughs a little, “I got your tech from the old files, made the discs so our guys are good. The inhibitors too. The Titans have extras to hand out to the fighters here.” Cyborg pulls a mini computer out of his chest compartment, “here. All of them are on the same network connection, so you can program the mass of them from this unit.”

His eyes are enormous behind the lenses because his team and _holy shit more tech_, “the Titans…?” He takes the computer, already working his magic while listening.

Cyborg hums a little, “oh yeah. They…are very not happy, but they should be coming through soon. BB is going to give you the ass-chewing of your life, dude. Just wait for it.”

_Shit, they were supposed to stay at home and be safe_. Red rubs the back of his neck, an old twitch, and gets back to work.

“Like they wouldn’t show for you, Red. C’mon, they’re your _team_, right?” And Vic grins at him when he doesn’t say anything.

“Yeah, yeah, should have known better, right?”

“Yup. Oh hey, there’s me. I’m gonna go tell that guy he’s handsome as hell. See you at the brief.” And the guy is already walking away to his counterpart.

_Done_. He taps his comm, “T? Our visiting fighters have my tech. I’m already re-coding so we should be good to go. Seems like my team has spares, so winning.”

“I’d say,” his counterpart says over his ear while the portal spits out more people and now he’s watching out for it. “We’ve got both sets of Lantern Corps dividing up.”

“Okay, in a minute I’m going to start with the layout. I’ll need the mass comm for it then we can divide the signals by sections and ground/air forces.”

“On it.”

“O?”

“Red.”

“You’ve got divisions one and two. I want to know how they hold up around the secondary ships. T will take three and four. I’ll maintain us here as well as I can before Phase II. Then, I’ll need you two to split up the work load.”

“Acknowledged.”

_Breathe_. He does, and…Kon, his Kon is carrying a box under his arm when he comes through. Bart, Cassie, Rave, Gar, and Miguel riding through that portal like they own it.

He stands with his whole body tight since he’s happy and not so much to see them.

Bart just zips right up, throwing both arms around him. “Dudeohmygodwhatthehellwereyoueven_thinking_tryingtomakeus-“

“KF,” he laughs a little, “I can only _hear so fast_, man.”

And the look in Bart Allen’s eyes is very _you are so going to get it_, “oh, Mr. ‘Let the Titans chill on Earth while I’m possibly going to die _in another universe_.’ Seriously?! You, sir, are an ass hat.”

“He’s got a point,” Kon says mildly, quirking a brow at him.

“As if we’d just leave you hanging.” BB just looks insulted even though he’s grinning.

Raven gives a harrumph, looking generally unimpressed.

Miguel, however, snaps him up in a bone-crushing hug (normal, good to see you too, man). Cassie cuffs him lightly on the back of the head.

“All right, all right, my bad. You guys…really didn’t need another run at this whole thing, right? Pretty sure I already said that.”

“We are your team, you fool,” Raven snipes, “it is our right to be at your back.”

And Red…Red just looks around at them, blinking behind his domino. He clears his throat a little, “uh…yeah. Thanks for coming then, guys. Glad you could make it to the killer party of the year.”

Laughter from all sides, and T breaks it up. “Red. Comms synchronized. Give ‘em a roaring ‘hey, try not to die’ speech, okay?”

“You got it, T.”

He gives a wave to the Titans and makes his way to the van, watching his Kon and Bart hand over the boxes to this world’s Batman, Hood, and Robin. Red just catches the back door and vaults himself on top to be seen.

“All right, people,” he starts, his comm transmitting to the fliers and fighters on their way to the other four districts as well as the huge mass congregating around him. Silence falls over the huge crowd, people moving in closer to look up at him, regular humans, metas, aliens, superheroes, villains, from this world and from his. All of them gathered for a singular purpose: to save the world. And the plan is going to get them through this.

“For all of you from this world, welcome. Those of you from the other dimension, thanks for joining the effort. We all know the reason we’re here. The invading aliens to this world have every intent to keep it, to kill off the rest of the inhabitants, and make it their own. We’re going to stop them.” Quickly, he outlines Phase I of the plan, how the gathering should divide themselves in New York City around the floating Mothership, what the Insurgent’s strength are, what their weaknesses are, and how to fight them. He warns everyone to take a disc and a handful of devices to break their tech until he can get the virus implanted.

“Now, we know where we stand.” He finishes off, “stick with the plan, be smart, don’t take chances, and maybe we’ll go home at the end of the day. Questions?”

The lower chattering starts up rather than be directed toward him. “Good. Maintain communications throughout the fight. In twenty minutes, I’ll take the first wave of ground and air forces.” He jumps down to stand beside this world’s Bats, taking a small measure of comfort in the Batman and Red Hood’s hands on his back where no one else can see.

And just when he gets the feeling, the anticipating, shit goes down over the active comm system between him and the first wave:

“Ah, Detective,” Red almost groans as Ra’s voice draws a few gazes around the group, looking for the source. “I hope you are _happy_ to see me.”

Now catching sight of the impressively armored Ra’s Al Ghul and a _fuck_ ton of assassins at his back, and _wow, where were all these guys when we busted in the first time?_

Just the Bats, and a few more forces could hear them. He didn’t even want to know how T was taking this right now. “Ra’s, glad you could find your way out of the caves.”

And well, the guy looks a hell of a lot better than he had a few days ago, more powerful, healthy. “Detective,” he purrs in a low voice and, _holy shit, this world’s Hood already has his guns out_. “How could I possibly miss an opportunity to be…with _you_ again?”

Ew and ick. The two Ra’s really needed to have a meeting on how _not_ to be creepers. Seriously.

Red sighs a little when he feels more than sees Red Hood finger the .45s in his holsters. “Keep your mind out of the gutter because, world war here, Ra’s.”

And a sly, white smile cuts across the immortal’s face, before he actually tsks at Red, “now, Detective, once the work is complete, there is always time for _play_.”

And Red Arrow gets this _expression_ on his face.

“I’m sure our definitions of play differ…greatly.”

A low laugh in his ear and _oh God he is going to need to take a bath in bleach, forever._

“After our battle is won, I could take such great _pleasure_ in showing you as many definitions of the word as eight hundred years have taught me. Shall we plan to meet afterwards?”

He closes his eyes behind the domino, counting to ten. “Fighting a _war_ here, Ra’s. Massive effort.”

“Terribly sorry,” hell no he’s not, Red can hear it in his tone, “Am I...distracting you? I wouldn't want to begin my part of the invasion..._prematurely_ as it were. I do after all have so many more hands to account for than your little _Bat-clan_.” Those arms sweep out to motion to the massive ninja squad.

Sigh, now Batman is working his fists like he’s got them around the immortal’s neck. “You know, as informative as this is (not), you are really asking me to take a pause in a massive world war attempt to deal with your brand of immortal _crazy_. Seriously, if you liked being beaten up so much, why not just ask when I'm a little less busy here.”

“If you haven't enough time to dedicate _handling_ me properly, Detective, you need only say so. I am patient enough to wait for more _accommodating_ circumstances.”

Now the Bats from his world are moving through the crowd, coming closer to them because, _fucking Ra’s_.

“I hope your patience extends to _never_. I already have an immortal _pain in my ass_ waiting in my own world to be thwarted next Wednesday. He’s already penciled in.”

“At least my opposition is worthy. Though given that you have come to visit, I do not see why he cannot do the same so we might _share_ you upon occasion.”

And that’s Damian, both of them, facepalming, while Red’s cheeks heat up around the domino, and Red Hood behind him is growling low in his chest.

“Wow, no. No and a whole lot of _no_. You’ll get the call when it’s ninja time, until then, please, try to make an attempt at not being totally creepy. I hear Wonder Woman has a thing with kicking people’s balls in their throats. Just a warning.” He taps the comm, “T, change Ra’s frequency to _desperate _and _pathetic_.”

“Done.” His counterpart growls.

“Don’t worry, after this, you are going to have the time of your life siccing half the world’s superheroes on him. Just keep that in mind.”

“You have no idea the _plans_ I already have.”

“I can imagine.”

Hood is already all kinds of on top of that, “T, you don’t even _speak _to him without one of us. Am I one hundred fucking _percent_ understood on that shit?”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it, Hood. Take a pill.” And his counterpart sounds a whole lot of pouty.

“Reminded me to have the Titans clue you into some of our Wednesday protocols before we leave. Just in case.” Red observes mildly as his world’s Bat finally make their way to stand in front of him, also looking slightly creeped out. Good, now they know what _he_ deals with.

The Batman behind him manages, “Red, we won't speak of this now because I'm too busy to fully process it, but we will speak of it. That shit is going to _happen_.” And, yup, now the Bats facing him are turning to look at the Robin, Red Hood, and Batman really close to his back.

“Understood,” he replies, turning slightly over his shoulder. But to the ones in front of him, “glad you could all make it. You’re with the first wave.” And his eyes pick out discs on all of them, more than one level of pockets on new utility belts, more armor and reinforced outer wear, more weapons because, well _Bats._ Still, he’s happy to see they’ve got more tech.

Nightwing is still turning slightly to keep looking at the two behind him, “Red. Good to see you’re okay.”

And _what now_? “Prepping for a major world effort, N. Good to go.”

The Batman from this world lays a hand on his shoulder, “your Red Robin has been invaluable in this effort,” he says in that growly tone (one that is a little similar to the one he used when he was touching—whoa, not the time for that).

The other Batman gives a slight nod and the whiteout lenses fall on him, “Red is one of the best our world has to offer.”

If he wasn’t schooled in the art of _Bat reactions_, he would have done a double-take along with scanned them completely for just in case…

“We can see why,” the Red Hood behind him draws out through the synths. “Kid’s got a whole lot of _talent_.”

Now, he wants to facepalm. “Thanks, Hood. I do what I do _best_.” Which is layman’s terms for _shut the hell up, man_.

“Ten minutes and the first wave is out.” T interrupts and _thank fuck for the calvary_.

Red taps his comm, “acknowledged. Almost go-time, people. First wave line up.” He gives a glance over both shoulders and down to the older Robin glaring at his shorter, usually yappier, counterpart. “You three ready for this?”

He get a whole lot of grins back because _oh yeah, the totally are_ and the Titans are throwing him waves from over the crowd as people start moving to line up. And fuck, now his stomach is tight with anticipation, with the _fight_, his brain takes on a whole new level of planning and contingencies.

“We’re with you,” the Batman at his back squeezes his shoulder a little and the hand just suddenly patting his ass is Hood throwing in his lot with that. Robin likewise reaches out to grip his forearm, and it’s a crazy thing that he smiles like an idiot at them before possibly riding off into a horrible death-filled battlefield. But hey, they’re smiling back at him just as wide, and when he moves, the three of them move like a team behind him.

**

“Mind Field triggered, we’ve got Bats in there!” And he knows the cadence of both Dick Grayson’s voices to tell Nightwing is yelling for his Red Hood and Robin in the background while the other Kon reports. _Fuck_.

He glides over the mass majority of fighting, his plan interrupted by the familiar boundaries he remembers vividly passing through in their own San Francisco less than a year before this. The trigger has been activated by the faintly glowing blue lines at odd intervals. He lands less than a few feet from Nightwing, staring into his own definition of hell rather than the massive fighting going on around them. And Red stutters, white hot panic lances through him, drowning out the constant noise through the multi-wave comm because he knows what he has to do.

Nightwing just stares at the hazy boundaries, mouth open to yell for Jason, for Dami, again, and he's… Lost.

Red forces his hands to work, to pull the grapple, to pull the line out with jerky movements, to tie it around his waist while his heartbeat pounds in his ears and he steps up beside Nightwing, his Dick Grayson and shoves the other end at his chest.

"When I tug, pull us out. Don't go in or we're all _dead_."

And he refuses to give himself any more time to be afraid, to pause, to stop, to look at Dick while he's talking, also scared of the unknown. And good, it’s fine. Red knows all about it, and he knows some things are worth fearing. Instead of thinking too hard, he takes a page out of Dick's own vigilante handbook, turns, and leaps.

**

And Jason Todd is choking on his own blood, hands that don't feel as big as his pressed against his throat to try and stop his life's blood from pouring out, hot through the gauntlets.

The Red Hood _(him, what the fuck, how…_) standing over him with the blade glinting in the night, dark splash of shadow on the razor's edge.

"-all you'll ever be, Replacement. You think they give _a fuck_ about you? You think they love you? Want you? You’re supposed to be the _smart one_, the detective. Haven’t figured it out though, have you? Fuck, I almost feel _sorry_ for your stupid ass.” And he’s got pellets in his hand, just needs Red Hood closer. “Cause here’s the truth, you little shit, so listen up. To them, the Bat, you're just _cannon fodder_. That's it. Just another meat bag against the baddies. And when you're used up, they'll replace you too."

And like the thought is his own head, the words in Red Robin’s younger voice beat around in his skull like a curse: '_you were my Robin. Jason. Dick was Gotham’s, Batman’s, but** you**, you were mine. Do what you have to, make it right_.' The pellets fall out of his limp hand.

And he chokes again, bleeding out in degrees, but fucking dammit, the feeling, the satisfaction that he’s doing _the right thing_ by letting Jason Todd, the former Robin, the new Red Hood, beat the ever-loving _shit_ out of him, making every attempt to end his life, a fifteen year old kid, is right there in this moment.

The landscape around him alters again, making him almost puke until his eyes clear and the room is small, swaying in a way that he's not surprised, his body automatically compensating. He's been here a while. Arms fastened over his head to an I-beam in the ships structure, and the pain like fire burns from everywhere at the smallest movement.

The dark motherfucker in front of him is grinning.

"Meester Wayne. We are beginning to run out of patience with you."

The strike takes Jason by surprise, not Tim. And metal cuts further into the already raw meat of his back, stabbing deeper, bleeding him in degrees. Not him, but Tim, Tim cries out because: '_do what any normal person would do_.' Flicker of eyes to the watchful camera lens in the corner.

And days have made it worse, his spleen long gone to hunt for B and the inevitable effect from lowered immunities are setting in. He already knows what's happening: sepsis. Time is ticking but there are children held captive, being taken to be sold off like cattle. He won't leave them, _he can't_. He has to figure out a way to save them all, he has to--

And the blows are continuous, a never-ending slope of pain and more pain. He can't feel the blood anymore, can't feel his once white shirt sticking to the wounds now.

A jump in time and they're holding him down across the dirty metal table in that room, holding up the red iron in front of his eyes before the collar is grabbed, ripped, and the iron laid across his shoulder blades with intent.

And there's no thought now, just screaming. Tim might not have died here, but while his voice echoes with the kid’s, Jason Todd gets pretty fucking worried _he_ might.

**

Robin vomits when the ground changes again from the torture room, throwing him around. He has no time to recover, to shake; instead, he's thrown, airborne and his back breaks glass, shards entering his view like glittering rain.

He sees _himself_ standing, straight backed, sneering, spitting insults at Drake. The him in this moment is still angry, still wants his predecessor to acknowledge him. The Drake in this moment is bloody but (frighteningly) not putting all of his effort into the fight, rather the pain in his chest is like a knife, his only family, only lifeline in this world, his identity, his very self, ripped away by this kid, the kid that knows nothing of _sacrifice_, of doing the right thing, of fulfilling a _need_. And maybe…maybe the kid, this Damian Wayne is right, maybe he is only a _thing _like a chair, a carpet, a fork, a _knife_ since he can be turned away so easily, his cape taken away like he’d never done anything to _earn_ that R…

And then the change again, the world of fire and blood in which Damian Wayne was resurrected. The gloved hand holds out the disc with the R to the child who came back, fully aware he is giving it up of his own free will this time around. He will not let this be taken, but the act will finally be of his own choosing.

And in the depths of his mind, the voice is deep, dark with intent, '_never again. For either of them. Anything I have to do to keep them from dying again. They call, I'll come._'

And the shift again, sitting down, Robin is staring at hands, palms too big to be his own. In one is the Glock .45 that his dad used to try and defend himself from Captain Boomerang. The magazine is full, but it only takes one, doesn't it?

The not-his hands pull back the hammer, thumb the safety off, and to Robin's horror, the gun lifts easily, so easy. The barrel is nestled just in his peripheral, perfectly in front of his ear. And the weight in the mind, the body, lifts in a terrible release with the action. He can feel his eyes getting hot but he feels the smile cutting across the face because _he can finally do something fucking right_. And the thought echoes, it resonates.

And then horror fills Robin because the forefinger tightens-

'_Dick's ringtone_' the voice could be in Robin's own mind if the voice hadn't been Drake's. The Brady Bunch theme belts out from beside him and for a sick moment, Robin doesn't think he will-. The gun stays where it has the right place, the other hand thumbing to answer it, press against the other ear.

"Timmy, hey little brother…"

And the words are lost in the landscape, just the cadence of Dick's voice in a smooth rhythm, but it has been some time before the arm collapses down, bringing the gun with it, the metal hitting the floor with a sharp sound and the breath is caught in his throat, choking him while his eyes spill over.

"Tim? Tim?! Answer me. Tim, you're scaring me."

The voice is Drake but not, "I'm fine, Dick. I'm fine."

"The hell you are," and the fuzzy quality is lifting enough that Robin can hear the sound of a car door, an engine, realize Dick has the speaker phone is on ‘_is he in New York? The ‘Haven? Don’t come here, please Dick don’t come here_. _Just hang up because I can’t do this while—_’

"Talk to me Tim, just keep talking."

But it fades again and Robin is looking down at the same gun, the same too-big hands. The forearms are thicker, more scarred, this Drake is a bit older. Night has fallen, only a sliver of moonlight through the window, and the sick feeling churning isn't in the man. It's in Robin because the gun is already raising and the voices echoing in his head isn't Drake; it's _his own_.

'—tt—. When are you going _to get it_? How much more obvious do they need to be for your simple mind to comprehend? **You do not belong here, **in fact, Drake, did you ever? You, the one Father didn’t chose, the one thrust upon him, a burden. It will be fine as _I_ am Robin now, I have taken my rightful place at the Batman's side. They do not need to pretend you are part of this family any longer and neither should _you_.'

Dick heard it all and said…nothing, going back to pulling his gloves on to prepare to be the Bat for another night while B was out of the city to get more superheroes for BI, running his recruitment speech. _And his fucking “**brother”** said nothing, just let it be. Good thing the domino was hiding how hot and heavy his eyes were._

And this time, no one is going to call. There is no one. ‘_Damian is right. He isn’t a Bat anymore, never really was. Dick, Bruce, O, Alfred, none of them argued with any of it because Damian and Jason were right all along. Fuck, he hadn’t realized, hadn’t wanted to believe, but it’s all right in front of his face now, isn’t it?’_

There are no tears this time as it isn't necessary. Why bother? There is no one left to mourn-

The wall to the stagnant apartment in Gotham caves in abruptly and Kon, _Conner_ bursts through, staring at the picture, his former teammate holding a gun to his head, the gun that didn't save his Dad but would take him out of the game; fitting.

"Put it down, man," Kon says gently, moving slowly, and Robin just stares at the expression on Kon’s face, the fear. And Robin’s heart beats with hope since the clone is Drake best friend, of course he will drop the weapon, _realize_ what he’s doing…

Instead: "All you need to do," and Tim's voice is broken, "is turn around and pretend you were never here."

Kon is shaking his head while the finger on the trigger tightens, the hand scarily steady because in Drake’s mind _it’s time_, "You can't, Tim. You _can't_. We **need** you. Fuck the Bats. They don't need you, but we sure as hell do." Kon moves slowly to his knees, right by Tim’s, "Bart and BB have been taken, Tim. The Light is going to kill them if we dont- please, please, Tim, don't do this. Don't-!"

**

In tandem, Hood and Robin experience another shift, another abrupt change, holding their hands to their abdomens as they bleed out all over the sand. '_Batman would have entered some zen meditation phase, planning his next fourteen moves. I just bled._'

And the agony of a ruptured spleen is enough to make the Bats scream aloud while Red Robin forces himself to climb past it, to look at Z and Owen with pain because he couldn’t save them, but still refuses to die in the desert while Bruce is out there.

And through the pain, of forcing the broken body to move because Pru's not dead (yet), something tightens around them both, something deeper, more real than the hot blood and cold night, more real than tying her scarf around her throat, wrapping their cape around their wound, and carrying her to the Jeep.

And the jerk is sick, abrupt, spinning the landscape crazily out of wack until the sun is beating down on them again.

Hood fumbles, uncoordinated, manages to get his helmet off in time to puke everywhere; Robin wretches on bile.

And Red manages to make it to his knees, breathing, his skull buzzing with pain. He spits, trying to get the grave dirt and ashes out of his mouth, his back still burning from the explosion, the Joker's laugh bouncing around in his brain and, '_Mom? I love-!_' In a broken voice just before the explosion takes everything away.

His abdomen still sends synaptic responses of tearing from the sword sliding in him and '_others will live. This death is…honorable_' in the depths of his mind where he will, can **never** forget.

Only his own acknowledgment saved him, Hood, and Robin, let him force his own memory to pervade the Mind Field, to trap them all in the same space so he could find them, get them both out. If he hadn't had his convictions that Jason and Damian are alive, that he'd made a promise to keep it that way…

Vision comes back in hazy stages, the silhouette of N kneeling between Hood and Robin, shadow of mouth moving, and his ears pop abruptly, slowly the cottony quality giving way in degrees.

He finally realizes Nightwing is holding the two other Bats up against himself while they shake, let him take their weight.

A blur, a shift, and blue eyes are terrified, hands on him.

Garbled something.

"Red…" Filters through. "Red?! No, no, no. KF! Mind Field, man! Fuck! Team! We need extraction! **Now**, dammit!"

And he can raise his arms, his hands, look around at the chaos in the sky because, fuck, still work to be done (_Jesus Christ… Dami…Jay_).

The comm still in his ear finally sharpens, and Red Robin straightens, still on his knees.

"Team." His voice is rough, "we need extraction for Robin 2 and Red Hood 2. Everyone else, Red back on line. Phase II is a go."

Kon is staring at him, horrified, shaky but allows Red to use his shoulder as a brace to stand. He fumbles for an instant, his brain coming back in layers of the plan, and he manages to untangle the grapple line around his waist by the time KF one and two meet in the middle from opposite sides of the battlefield.

"Shit!" Both echo, staring at him. Red, listening now to updates, points at the three Bats wordless.

Both Bart and a younger speedster he doesn't recognize (but has the same uniform, so not part of the deceased Titans) grin and salute him. In the next moment, all three Bats are gone.

"Red, you need to-" Kon has a hand around his bicep, and a whole lot of worried right there in his eyes.

"We have a war to win," he interrupts ruthlessly. "Get me to that ship, Kon. Now! Or we've lost." He throws one arm around the Supe's shoulders, ready to rise up and meet the sky.

**

He knew a sky battle would be a bitch to plan because, well, fuck, but as he and Kon are dodging the falling debris, explosions, mini fights, etc., he's still switching his comm, giving heads-up and strategy to everything he sees.

When they get closer to the big ship and the defenses kick in, Red takes a deep breath as Kon maneuvers to miss lasers to the face.

"Throw me!" He yells over the wind, whirlybirds already in hand.

"Dude. If I ever go gray, it's going to be because of you, you know that, right?!"

"Just do it!"

And the move is one they've practiced, pulled off more than once. His arm slides down, his body falling until it's only their grip on each other’s forearms keeping him aloft.

Kon spins giving three sharp rotations before letting Red fly.

The whirlybirds hit the side of the ship perfectly, exploding a few seconds before he's sliding on the air currents through the destruction. His suit is snagged on jagged alien shit metal (_use another next time, asshole, you're taller than you used to be_) but he's already up, running, accessing the schematics from the hack of their neural net. And the ship is creepily sterile, lit softly to give him the way.

With his disc reactivated the second he got inside, his thoughts are blocked, and it's all about the virus now. His bo in hand, he rebounds off the wall at the shadows coming around the corner, attacking with full force, full body, he can’t allow anything to stop him. Luckily, out of their suits the Insurgents are physically weak, falling under his blows without much fuss. Thugs on the bad side of Gotham put up more of a fight.

And he's running again, leaving the unconscious bodies behind him, sticking to the plan. But the whatever type of alien glass coming up on his right is enough to change the direction.

A massive storage hull, filed with rows and rows of containers… And human bodies. Eyes wide behind his domino, Red takes in the people trapped in some kind of suspended animation, peaceful in forced sleep.

"Holy-"

He snags the device from his belt, hits the button on his mask, changes comm frequencies.

"T! T!"

"My God," his counterpart breathes against his ear, "I see it!"

"I'm hooking you into their system," Red's already plugging the device into the wall panel. "Hack the shit out of this, get me in. We're going to need major extraction."

"Fuck, just _holy fuck,_ okay. On it."

"I'm going on to the Control Room to plant the virus, then I'm coming back for these people."

"Copy. Red, fuck, I’ll send you whoever I can."

But Red's already moving again, forcing himself away from that room, making his brain map out the way back. But, he has new strength, lives to save, and attacks oncoming aliens with vengeance.

**

The Bats take their roles seriously, and Jason Todd from the other world viciously pulls away from Nightwing.

"I'm going back out. Stay with the kid."

"Hood, I don't know what happened in there-"

"Red is out there fighting. He's not going it alone. You _hear_ me?!" And even with the helmet back on, there’s an edge, almost hysterical to Jason. Nightwing holds both hands up in an _I’m not the enemy _gesture.

And Robin, forcing his nightmares and Red's memories back, finds his own strength to stand. "He is right, N. We are going back out there and we will fight," the youngest hisses, meeting Hood's helmet in agreement.

The three tap their comm units, "Hood 2, N, and Robin 2 coming back in action. Where's Red?"

And T is the one that answers them. "Red has infiltrated the Mothership to set the virus. He's found prisoners. We need extraction soon. Can you get on it?" And that guy sounds busy as fuck.

"Who's with him?" N demands, already moving to the underground storage where the two BatPlanes wait inside one of the few designated ‘safe zones.’

"Red's on his own." T replies grimly. "Can you be on extraction or not? I'm coordinating a _world war_ here, you know."

The Bats exchange a glance, "we're on it. Bat team 2 out."

Hood takes one plane, N and Robin the second.

"Fliers," N takes over the main channel, "we have survivors on the ship, Bat team 2 en route. We need cover to get us there."

A chorus of voices makes him grin. "Good. When we've got numbers, we'll call for more extractions."

The ground opens, "hold on to something Dami," N fires the bird with fast hands. "We've got a brother to find."

Robin, already re-checking his belt gives a sharp nod of agreement. "We stay with him."

"Agreed," Hood replies from the plane's channel, the second plane ready to take flight.

"Hero time," N sing-songs as they take to the sky.

**

_Bitch_.

The Queen is still the regal figure from his world, a terrible being with glowing eyes and more height than the standard of her race. Her face twisted into displeasure when she can't crack his mind.

"You," and the voice, like tearing paper, whispers along his spine. "In all worlds, you are the thorn in my side."

"Nice," he says mildly, "glad you picked up on some of our idioms." The control panel now behind him is working on the countdown. Twenty more seconds and the virus will hit. He has to last for twenty seconds and then, well, whatever would happen would happen.

"Your device won't save you. For killing my kind, Timothy Jackson Drake, you too shall fall."

"Me, huh? I didn't come to your world and invade, you know." He twirls the bo around himself. "We didn't kidnap your people, turn your world into a death trap. But we sure as hell are going to fight. You underestimated the wrong race."

"This isn't YOUR world. You are dead here," she hisses out while he advances, "you should not BE here."

"Doesn't matter, me or anyone else. You and your people need to _get it._ Leave Earth the hell alone!"

The ships rocks sharply, throwing them both off balance, Red hits the wall sharply, on his feet quickly to try and take her out while he can-

But his body is jerked abruptly with an invisible hand, like Kon's TTK, only this pressure is like iron, holding him up, his extremities hyper extended. He grits his teeth at the abrupt agony of his legs being pulled too far, too much—

"At least I will be able to kill one of you," the Queen rises, eyes glowing bright. "Perhaps this death will send a wave through the universes and allow us victory."

"Fuck. You." He tries to manage, "others. Will. _Fight_."

And the Queen just laughs, extending a hand. Red's eyes wide as the domino is torn off, baring his face. "Look at me while I crush your mind like an egg."

She comes close enough to paw at the disc on his chest, and Red…Red always plans for the possibility his plans will fail…that he's going out of the vigilante game on a permanent basis (there was always a second in command for just in case). But…but, he's always wanted to go out in Gotham, to be buried next to his parents, to finally have a permanent home. From the moment Ra's asked him where he saw himself in the future, a gravestone has always been the first image. Now, he can finally have a real rest… Mom, Dad…

"Let go of my brother, you fucking _bitch_!" Dick…it's Dick coming to-

The Queen shrieks, a sound that makes him scream with her, her voice in his head, her thoughts in easy access of he tries hard enough—

Blue sparks and the smell of burning flesh which is weird because the Dick from his world had Tasers in his escrima sticks and this world's didn't have anything like that, where did he get—

His body drops abruptly, breath whooshing out of his lungs when he hits something not the floor. He has no idea Hood slid across the floor to catch his dropping body.

"Drake?!" Robin's masked face fills his vision. Not older Dami, the one that hates him, the one that is cupping his face in both gloved hands being strangely _gentle_. What the fuck is…

"What did she do to you? Tim? Tim, answer!"

And his brain must still be _out_ because is the Damian from his world calling him by his first name? Slow blink to make sure he’s really seeing this, but maybe a trap—?

"We need to get him to the plane," Hood's voice above him and the glint off the helmet, "now! Then we can find these hostages."

And he blinks, brain coming back online, running scenarios and tests to make sure she _isn’t still in there_. No press of her presence, and she can’t alter his thoughts, at some point the whirlybird on his chest got reactivated and he can feel the hum against the outer armor.

So he’s back in the moment and these aren't this universe's Bats and he's lying in Hood's lap like a terrible heroine in some book. And what the fuck is happening right now?

The grip Hood has on his legs and ribs just makes the ache all over pretty obvious since, well, he’d almost had his body pulled apart.

"T has to crack the door," he mumbles, shoving himself up, making Robin and Hood lean back. "The virus-" and he's standing, wobbly as hell because _ow ow ow_, his fucking legs.

The Queen is on the floor, out cold and N is still standing, sticks glowing in his hands, but the guy moves to match his pace, takes his arm while he stands at the control panel, and maps the virus's progression. So what if he's leaning heavier than normal, it's fine, right? He's had a busy day.

"T? We've got launch. The neural net infection will begin in under a minute. Then they'll start dropping."

"Got it." His own voice in his ear sounds a little wonky, so maybe his brain isn't fully rebooted yet. "Door encryption is cracked, Red. I'm working on the stasis pods. They're going to start popping open soon."

His eyes take in all the code flowing across the screen with the alien characters, well, those don’t matter, the numbers are what he needs. "Shit. How many?"

"Thousands, _thousands_."

Okay, change of plans. "We'll have to land the ship. There's no way we can get them out before everything goes down. Damn it." Now he's in the game, one hundred percent. "I need an area big enough, close enough."

"On it."

"And we're going to have to alter Phase II to compensate."

"Already done. I've let the other teams know the new game plan. Hack it, and I’ll get all the ships on the ground."

_Fucking right_. "Go us." He mutters while furiously typing in the alien numeric code. The ship gives an obvious stutter before gently beginning to sink.

"Red! Christ, Timmy," N's voice jars him out of the numbers as the hand on his arm shakes him minutely. Hood and Robin are right against the other side, watching him with the lenses down.

"The pods are going to start spitting out humans, _thousands of humans_." He explains fast, tapping his wrist computer for coordinates T is sending. "We've got to land this thing."

"Fucking what now?" Even though Hood’s got the helmet on, Red can see his eyes are huge.

"It's going to get bumpy. We need to set the landing pattern and get to the hostages." Red finishes entering the navigation and locks the system down with a complex encryption and password.

"Done." The ship gives another groan and Red taps the comm again. "Nav set, I’m moving to the hostages."

"Acknowledged." T replies, "anyone available will be coming your way. Processing the code to ships 2,3,4, and 5."

Red turns fast, too fast, has a second of vertigo, the room spins for an important second because well, too many things fucking with his brain apparently.

"Whoa, Tim." And…all three of the Bats have a hand on him, like in case he was going down or something. Blinking, he just stares, seriously creeped right the hell out (aside from the fact that his real name has come out of _more than one of them_ in the last twenty minutes or so). _Not the time—winning a war, saving a lot of people_.

"Hostages," is all he's got, pulling out of the hands (Still, What. The. Great. Fuck?). Walking right past the Queen on the floor, he takes off at a run, bo flicked out and in hand, but the virus is already working (score). They only pass sparse aliens on the ground, writhing, clutching their heads in pain.

The Bats are right on his heels, playing an odd kind of follow the leader, leaping over aliens when he does, dodging them with him until they come to that room and the damn door is open.

"Sweet, good work, T."

The Bats pause for a few crazy moments, staring at the walls lined with human beings.

"Jesus Christ," Hood whispers, the helmet's synths picking up the words.

The first row of pods starts moving, the hydraulics working, and the capsules start opening.

Of course, several humans in the row are this world's Titans.

Bart Allen in the Impulse costume throws himself up with a scream, drenched in the clear goo the preserved him.

"Bart!" Red takes him by the shoulders as the guy is ripping sensors off his temples and shaking like fuck.

"Tim?" That small voice, "oh my God, _Tim_?"

No time to explain, Red just nods, "it's okay man. We're getting everyone out. Just chill, get this shit off yourself. We're landing this thing. Later, we’ll have an epic heart-to-hear. Promise."

Arms come around him, smearing goop everywhere. He doesn’t even give a damn because _fuck, Bart_. "D-dead. You were—"

"It's okay, B. It's okay. Breathe, man. I just need you to breathe."

At the same time, the doorway fills with other bodies and two Kons are better than one. Totes.

The dual JLA is just in time for the big rescue.

Martian Manhunter is the next one to force himself out of the capsule, and a flurry of '_holy shit, these people are alive!_’ gets the back-up moving.

This world's Kon takes over with Bart, and Red starts moving down the line, ripping off the mind sensors, pulling people up over the sides of the pods to cough and recover and breathe and be alive.

The Bats are pacing with him, following his example. He catches sigh of his world’s B pulling this world’s Roy up with vigor.

A heavy thud jars everyone, everything, and throws his balance off so he's on the damn floor (again).

"Landed it," T deadpans from his ear. "We've got them dropping like flies out there, Red. More coming your way."

"Acknowledged." He breathes, arms firming to push himself up.

Younger Robin appears beside him, gripping his bicep to help haul him up. Red looks down at him with a raised brow and (_shit, no mask, totally forgot with world saving_) nods once before he's moving again, leaping up to the next row, catching a moving pod to follow its progression down to ground level.

The doorway is filled with more supes and allies, a whole lot of bodies helping get people the fuck out of these things. In one corner, this world's reunited Titans are hugging one another, hugging their too-thin, too-broken Kon, crying, pulling themselves together in degrees while that Kon gives them a quick low down while he shakes, eyes wide with a whole lot of shock setting in.

He’s pulling another human out, laying her over the side of the pod, ready to move to the next when something shakes his arm, a grip on the other side biting, and Red jerks.

"Your bleeding, Baby Bird," Hood interjects when his gaze is drawn to that side. And he feels his brows draw together (_fuck, no mask_). “Need to take a breather.”

But, "what did you call me?" Spills out before he can bite his tongue.

Hood straightens a little, but doesn't balk or bitch or take it back. N on his other side turns his face with one finger so his eyes can look past those whiteouts to see the vague dark blue of Nightwing’s.

"You're not tracking well. We need to get you to a safe zone, okay? B is right there and we can—"

"I'm getting updates. We're not done." He interrupts ruthlessly, pulling out of their hold because this isn't _them_, the other Bats, yes, but not the ones he’s been moving further away from for the last few years, and just why the fuck is it suddenly different? He could handle the way it was before, but this…this is starting to freak him out.

Something must be in his expression because N and Hood go very still, backing up a steps with hands in the air, a '_nope, not dangerous_' gesture.

“Tim,” and N’s voice is low, almost gentle, just like when he used to get hurt as the other Robin and it was _Dick Grayson_ that bandaged him up, “we just to want to make sure you’re okay. That’s it. No one is attacking you.”

Maybe because his brain is still a little fucked, but what comes out is: “_You’re_ not the Dick Grayson that gives a shit,” and it sounds as confused as he must be.

And N flinches like he’s been struck, his face changing under the domino, mouth open but nothing coming out. Red (_my big fucking mouth_) turns his back on them, striding to the door to get the hell out, already fishing for another domino when this universe's Bats come through the door at a run.

"Fuck! Red!" Older Robin yells, bee-lining for him with Hood and the Bat on his heels.

He holds up a hand, "hey, we're good here-"

But he's thrown back a step as the three latch on to him in the middle of hostage central. This world’s Batman holds him up off his feet a few inches between him and Hood with Robin taking a tight hold of his bicep. He laughs a little, letting himself relax in their hold.

From a few feet away, N just numbs out a little, watching Red relax in his counterpart’s arms, listening to that laugh, and his fists tighten so hard his wrists crack because…_ fucking because_… those fuckers are taking the right kind of care he’s neglected and apparently for too long… _Dammit, Tim, of course I care_. But the doubt, the slow realization he’s been coming to since the portal opened in their world is coming to a sick fruition, all the _how longs_ and _when was the last times_ that he really has to think about. Checking his call logs for the last time he’d reached out to Tim’s celly just to catch up, for the last time without masks and cases and the mission, the last time it was Tim and Dick instead of N and Red.

Robin makes a rude noise in the back of his throat because, well, it wouldn't take much for Red Robin to agree to stay in this world, would it? Why be the Bat's whipping boy when he could be cared for here?

"Thank fuck you're okay," Hood, this world's Hood says against Red's ear, voice altered with the helmet. "We heard you willingly jumped into the Mind Field. What the hell were you thinking?!"

"Still standing, right? Must have been a good day," he laughs again, not even going to admit the why behind it.

One of them presses too hard against his side and his breath rushes out in a choke.

The three pull back immediately, set him on his feet, and Batman's hand on his side to turn him so the guy can take a knee and look at the gouges in his suit.

"Fucking alien ships man. Don't make 'em like they used to," he jokes weakly.

The sound of leather creaking is the other Red Hood beside N clenching both fists as well.

"Motherfuckers," is spit through the synths, "that's _our_ Red and they better get with the fucking program and _recognize_—"

"We shall fix this," Robin interrupts from beside him, the kid sneering more than usual, lenses turned to the other Bats around their bird. "Once we return. If it is not too late, we will begin to fix this."

At that, N and Hood both look at him with surprise since, well, kid's always been the loudest voice against Tim Drake.

"Fucking A, kid. Solid." Hood replies.

"I'm on board," N agrees. "Right now, we take care of the immediate threats. Family fix-it time in our own world." But, N has a spear of pain and panic in his chest that has nothing to do with this fight; the same spear when he watched helplessly as Tim jumped through the portal out of their world in the first place, a fear that whispers _why would he **want** to come back? What does he have to come back to?_

And the Bats part, moving to help with the awakening humans.

**

Red pulls away from the Bats when data form T and O starts pouring in from around the globe, and T fills him in with highlights.

"Every ship has a stasis chamber full of people. All the ships have landed so kudos for us."

Finger on the comm, Red holds out a fist and gets an immediate fist bump from all three Bats. "Good news on that front. How are the forces holding up?"

"Kicking ass and taking names," T replies with the grin in his tone. "The virus incapacitated their mental net, so our invaders are funny looking aliens with the strength of a ten year old. Suits are inactive and the flying devices are falling out of the sky at alarming rates. Good job, Red. The virus works."

And the pressure, the weight in his chest, lifts enough that Red Robin can take his first full breath in almost a week.

"Fuck, we did it." He mumbles while the other Bats still watch, still take note of him slightly swaying, his feet shifting to automatically counterbalance. "We won."

"Certainly looking that way, Red. You saved our world, man." And he can hear O in the background over the comm while the other three just start with the smiling thing.

And a short laugh chuffs out from nowhere, and his hand starts shaking. "Dude. We saved your world. All of us. Team effort for the win, right?"

Significant pause because well, who would know him better but himself? "… You sound off, Red. What is it?"

"I'm good. Need some fresh air, but I'm okay." He waves the other Bats into the hostage effort, and something catches his eye immediately. He makes a motion at the third row of pods and there…is Alfred Pennyworth. Batman’s eye catches it as well, and he pauses for a crucial moment before he turns long enough to give Red a pointed finger _a 'sit the hell down and wait for us_' motion before he and the others are leaping up. Red waves them on again, thanking whoever in the hell let them save their Alfred before he strafes through the door and out into the ship.

He gets to the sunlight, standing in the hole he blew in the side and there's a fuck-ton of people standing around, gathering and tying up aliens in piles. When he makes an appearance, the crowds start screaming and clapping and just awkward as hell.

"Uh. Hey…yeah, the virus worked." He calls out to get some quiet and to be heard. "So, win. We're still getting reports around the globe, so not there yet, but it's looking good for Earth. You've done wonders, people. Great work."

And he steps out from the ship, moving to the roving bands to help tie up the downed aliens.

Not long after, the first hostages start coming through the doors of the ship, flinching in the sunlight. And the supes jump in, seriously too happy to help with the clean-up while the regular humans start looking for their families and homes.

This world's JLA starts organizing a group of the human freedom fighters to start taking names and families, to arrange vehicles and transportation. A few tents are already set-up for First Aid and supplies for weary fighters. He's happy to see other Kon with two sandwiches and a bottle of water surrounded by his team and looking like he’s a completely different guy from the one he met a few days ago. Dude totally deserved some good.

"Red, we have positive report. The Insurgents are down, mass capture and containment almost complete on all fronts. We have control of the ships, and the Queen has been apprehended by the JLA on your end."

Straightening from pulling debris off a human fighter, he reaches a hand down to him, the other tapping the comm.

"Good news all around, T. We're coordinating the clean-up effort here."

He pulls the man's arm around his shoulders and turns walking the guy toward the First Aid tent, half listening to the guy's thanks for finding him buried.

And the Tengu is just suddenly on the other man's side, hefting the other arm.

"B, glad to see you're okay," he says as they had the guy off to one of the volunteers for treatment.

This world's B crosses his arms over his chest, one hand tapping the comm, "he's by the First Aid tent, appears to be fine," to whoever is on the other end.

"T and my sons were worried about you," the Tengu says from behind that bat face. "You need water and to sit for a few minutes or I'll get all of them here before you can take off, understand?"

And, _wow_. The guy just grabs his bicep and drags him to an empty spot of ground by the tent wall and shoves him down. One of the volunteers, looking dusty and worn but satisfied, comes right over. "What do you need?" She gives Red a critical once over.

"Water, food, if possible," the Tengu answers with a nod. "Thank-you."

"You got it." And she leans down over Red. "My little sister was on that ship. Thank-you, thank-you so much."

And he just cracks a half smile, "glad she's okay."

Then the lady puts a gentle hand to his shoulder before she's off to get them supplies. Tengu finally sits his ass down beside Red, forearms on his raised knees.

"T says we're mostly in the clear," Tengu informs him, "I owe you a great debt of thanks, Red Robin. You saved my world and my sons to boot."

"All in a few day’s work, B," he replies wearily and earns a laugh from the man behind the mask. He wonders how long it'll take him to ask Dick for the mantle back, but estimates not long. Besides, Dick looks fantastic in Nightwing…maybe he could go red instead of blue because those finger stripes…

"Your people are accounted for," Tengu accepts the water and supplies from the woman and hands over half to Red. "All Super groups and humans. We've had few casualties thankfully. It…should have been much worse."

Fishing in his utility belt, Red opens the water, puts the antibiotic in his mouth before swallowing gratefully. "The Titans were supposed to stay in our world."

"Why is that?"

"I promised I wouldn't put them in this path again." Red shrugged, "shows how well they listen to the guy in charge, right?"

"Metas can be that way with the humans you know," Tengu points out. “They like to _worry_.”

"Preach it," Red agrees, holding up his bottle, and Tengu taps his to the side. For long moments, the two sit in easy silence, taking bites of sandwiches, watching the activity around them, hiding down out of sight and out of the way.

**

The Titans, his Titans (well, his Kon) find him before anyone else does, only a few hours after he managed to slip away from the Tengu. He’s halfway down the city, the remains of 54h Street trying to lift a slab of concrete from a pile, trying to make sure no one is trapped beneath. He’d been calling out for hours, searching for survivors, and damn his voice has been starting to give out, but there’s so much more destructions, could be more people, more fighters buried… it’s Gotham destroyed all over again, his mind going to _how many were buried alive_…?

The load is suddenly so light, he looks up wearily, and there's his Kon, healthy and alive and smiling like that time he put fast-acting itching powder in KF's onesie.

"Hey man," Red grins.

"There you are. Seriously, dude, epic job taking down, you know, the world." Red chuffs a laugh and the sound is as tired as he feels.

He waves a hand, gingerly leaning back down to pull up another piece of concrete while Kon’s apparently got the heavy shit, “Group effort, okay? Everyone had it-"

But Kon doesn't usually buy his crap, just like how B used to be with him back when he was a different Robin—Kon understands he isn’t the type of guy to harp on injuries or take a pause when there are innocent people still at risk, a job still to be done. His meta tosses the huge piece without care, taking the other out of Red’s slightly shaky hands, hauling him back up to stand, "Shut up and c'mon. No one is under this, okay? X-Ray vision and stuff, right?"

He doesn't get the chance to nod before Kon's got him around the waist and they are airborne (Red just allows his weight to sink into Kon’s side because _holy fuck he’s beat_). The two go over heads and destruction and clean-up until there's a whole lot of his Titans, _his_ Titans, waving like mad from the ground.

They come at him in a rush of '_you're alive, kudos for not, you know, dying_.' Cassie and Bart get to him first, rushing to embrace him on both sides, their voices and expressions so happy to see him, so glad he’s alive, he made it, and they aren’t angry (yet). He winds an arm around Cassie’s back and Bart’s shoulders, holding the two tightly with his aching arms, letting his forehead rest on Cassie’s shoulder for a minute before he pulls back and greets BB, Bunker, and Rave.

Miguel’s voice is shaky as hell, rattling off in Spanish faster than Red’s tired brain can compute, the guy holding him up with both arms and the lightly pulsing power radiating purple around them.

He laughs tiredly, “_hombre_, it’s good, man. All good.”

Then there’s a whole bunch of adjectives that range from _dumbass_ to _boss man_ to whatever, but Red’s with it enough to catch _‘don’t ever do this to us again_’ and his arms tighten around the taller guy just an inth more.

Raven and BB oddly enough, aren’t giving him the disapproving stares and admonishments he expected from the older Titans since, well, he’d pretty much disregarded them on the whole warning thing. Instead, BB throws an arm around his shoulders while Raven stares him down (fondly, he swears that her fond look), her cape floating gently around her in the non-existent breeze.

He lets them do their thing with the sudden burst of talking and the play-by-play of their parts in the big battle, recounting strategy that he’s really going to have to remember for later so he can update files and spreadsheets in the database. He keeps his arms by his sides, wings close while he listens but dammit if they don't—

"Red?" Cassie interrupts Bart's stirring finger puppet theater of how he beat a circle of aliens without trying hard. Speed, motherfuckers.

"I'm good," he tries while smiling at Bart, but she already has his arm and-

"Shit," she distinctly blurts. "Kon! Bandages and alcohol if you can find any. Hey, Red, I need you to sit down, all right?"

He waves a hand, his head fuzzy and warm because his team came anyway, even knowing what they’d be up against, and all of them are okay, and just, no, no, he's good, really and _all of you are here and all of you are okay_, but there’s people seriously hurt or dying out there still, probably, and he needs to just get back out there—

"He's going over!"

Red manages to turn his head to look because _Over where? Who_?

But his legs lose strength abruptly, and he finds himself held against a surprised Gar (when did he move next to me?), the shorter man’s arms around him before he's—

Out.

**

"Red!"

At the sight of an out cold Red Robin, the world goes _ape shit_.

T demands to know what's happening since he suddenly has alarms going off in the Bunker, the Titans surround the bird, the other group of Titans come to see what happened, the rightfully placed Bats heard "he's going over!" and likewise join the crowd, the visiting Bats muscle through the onlookers for the visiting Batman to quickly take his former Robin from Beast Boy’s arms, moving fast so he gets as little push back as possible.

“He’s bleeding out,” the Batman calls to his own team and to keep others from starting to argue about _who’s taking care of Red Robin_ and focus on _shit, shit, get the bleeding stopped_.

Cradled against his old mentor's chest, Red is completely slack, a mess of torn and dirty uniform, blood drying on his face, hands, and leaking through his body armor. N, Hood, and Robin surround the striding Batman to the First Aid tent and clear off a table for B lay the bird down.

"Hood arms, Robin legs, Nightwing, with me."

The Bats snap to, Hood bracing both arms at Red's biceps, Robin lightly pressing down on the ankles in case he should come to swinging. The Batman is emptying supplies out of his utility belt when the female volunteer comes up with, "What do you need?"

The other group of Bats barely register when the visiting Batman starts:

"Gauze, sterile needle and medical thread if you have any, if not sutures, if none of that, medical tape, alcohol."

He and N work fast, assessing the numerous gashes ripped out of the uniform, the other Batman and Red Hood step in beside the visiting Bats to deactivate the security traps with knowing hands before removing the harness and utility belt. N and his Batman exchange a glance since someone else knew the traps better, easier than they did (N grits his teeth at his counterpart moving with purpose beside him, hands unerringly removing the harness from Red).

And when the body armor is gone, the body suit unzipped while N holds Red’s upper body up while his counterpart gets the outer layers off fast; once it’s said and done, B takes an audible breath, his eyes wide beneath the cowl because _good God, what the hell happened to Tim? The scars_…he'd been a little marked up from years of being a vigilante, being Robin and then Red, but the jagged one across his abdomen is new, the ones on his back that can be seen around two semi-deep lacerations are horrifying. _And he knew nothing of this_.

His other sons are likewise shocked, just by the strangled noises coming out of them and the grim set to their counterparts (who aren’t shocked, who _knew_, and B’s mind runs with the implications of it all). Robin's hands tighten on Tim's knees, Hood's helmet tilted to take in the span of skin from neck to waistline where the suit is peeled down; his whole body shudders with memory, with that whip tasting flesh, and _fuck_ now he knows everything he saw really happened; it was all the unbridled, complete _truth_. He and Robin look at one another, both coming to the same epiphany.

N snaps himself out of the self-recriminations because Tim is still bleeding sluggishly from lacerations and punctures; he cleans up the blood so B can assess and triage. His reaction clear in the downturn of his mouth while his counterpart talks low in his ear:

“Kidnapped. Tortured,” this world’s Batman says right by his ear, holding up one of Red’s arms to be out of the way.

N’s domino turns toward that reinforced cowl, “when?”

“Didn’t say. Earlier this year, the scars aren’t faded enough for longer.”

“Who?”

“He refused to talk about it.”

While Hood threads the needle for him, B calls out, “Superboy.”

Stepping through the crowd, the teenager muscles a place for himself, looking at the battered Red Robin with worried eyes.

“X-Ray vision. We need to know if he’s bleeding internally, anything broken.”

“On it,” the meta’s eyes are already hot with the power, forcing himself to calm enough to scan through the first layer of skin to the damaged vessels and arteries, looking for something more substantial. He gets a whole lot of nothing with broken bones or injured viscera. Other than the stunning lack of spleen, looks like the damage isn’t deeply internal.

“No broken bones or ruptured insides. Spleen is still gone, so it’s our Red,” the teenager glances over his shoulder. “Speaking of which, KF! RRK!”

“Spleen?” The youngest Robin over from staring at Red Robin’s slack face, giving his Bats an arched eyebrow.

Kon just stares while Kid Flash unhooks the battered-looking red case from the straps holding it to his back and hands it over. Raven silently strafes beside the Red Hood. He takes the case from KF, reaching over B’s working hands to give it to Raven.

“What do you mean ‘lack of spleen?’” Robin presses.

Kon’s brows draw tight while Raven takes out the glass vial of power antibiotics, drawing B and N’s gazes while she uncaps a syringe from the kit.

And it’s the other Batman that answers, “he was stabbed, looking for this Batman in your world,” and a nod to said Batman who has visibly paused in stitching up the lacerations. “Lost his spleen in the process.”

“That was more than two years ago,” N replies, voice a little _off_.

“The when is inconsequential,” Raven interjects, knowingly injecting Red’s arm with the antibiotic, “keeping the condition _managed_ is crucial. He has had enough brushes with sepsis for the year.” She replaces things in the kit, Red Hood looking down to see a bag of IV antibiotics, two more glass vials, a syringe of pure adrenaline, and a square device with two electrode connected (_why the fuck would they be carrying a mini-defibulator…?_). Raven closes the case with a _snap_, and the Red Hood flinches slightly, but she looks up at him with those eyes that suddenly narrow on him before she steps away and gauze pads are taped over the stitched lacerations so Red can be laid back down.

“Good work,” B says to Superboy, tilting his head to the side. “We’re going to take care of him, give us a little time.”

And Kon can see right past the lenses and the cowl, his face a mask because he _really _doesn’t believe that shit for a second. “Been a long time since the Bats have said that about him,” the meta observes mildly, “s’okay, once he goes back through that portal, we know who really watches his ass.”

B, N, Robin, and the corresponding Red Hood straighten, eyes swinging toward the kid with the clenched jaw and his own narrowed eyes. BB takes a hold of his bicep, pulls him away with a: “we’re not here to antagonize, Blue. Whatever is best for Red right now, we’ll deal with.”

Letting BB pull him away from the table, Kon-El just snarls, “they didn’t even know about his immunities, man. Seriously, what a great way to say _get the fuck out of the family and stay **gone**_.”

KF is right there with him, “Blue, we know who’s got his back, okay? They want to play house for a hot minute, whatev, long as Red doesn’t get fucked about it, fine. We know what really goes down and _so does he_.”

The Red Hood and Batman of this world exchange a sharp glance and then look to their obviously affected counterparts (of course they had been to _that_ world, seen evidence with their own eyes in that Cave, in the Penthouse, but Red’s Titans talking about it so easily makes the situation that much more defined), but B refuses to let Red Robin stay on this table and bleed out any longer. He moves to finish up with the other punctures. Once realizing the Bats have it all in hand, the groups behind them start dispersing. The Titans don’t go far, watching with knowledgeable eyes.

And B, along with his Bats, are now very well aware the volume of Red Robin’s life for the past few years have been filled with too much—too much they have missed. His sons help get the body suit back up and over Tim's battered frame while the thoughts and implications churn.

"We can take him to the Bunker," this world’s Red Hood isn’t talking to any of the Bats but _his_ Batman, "he could rest easier there rather than out in the open."

"Agreed," the other Batman muscles his way through and is already moving to lift Tim up, as though this man is one of theirs, their responsibility. "I'll get him back in the plane and be back. T and O can monitor him while we’re cleaning up."

"With you," the other Red Hood grabs the harness, utility belt, wings, and pack, not bothering to care about the disapproval radiating from the visiting Bats since, well, point. Leaving their injured bird in the open could have bad results (since, yes, Ra’s is still wandering around with his ninjas and assassins).

And just seeing how carefully, how gently his other self in the Batsuit is carrying Tim cradled against his chest with the man’s head on his shoulder makes a whole lot of '_that should be you, asshole. That should have been you for the last two years_' well up in N, making him ride the guilt train just that much harder. It took way too much for him to realize how long it had been since he'd treated his brother like family. Everything had started being about '_what do you need, N_?'

And fuck. What if they asked him to stay?! What if he wanted to?!

His chest aches with it all.

B pats his shoulder on the way out of the tent, but none of it makes up for the loss he already feels.

**

Fuck.

Nightmare.

_Damn it, Jay, firey death sucks._

"Hey man, it's okay," and his own voice jars him hard, snapping him into action. He's out of the bed, ready to fight.

The other Tim is staring, mouth open. "Holy fuck, man. You're just…wow."

_Oh, his bad._ "Uh, thanks. Assassin training and stuff. Don't use the lethal part but you know."

Bandages are wound around his upper body and…fuck, he's shirtless. Great, just great.

"How's-?"

"Nope," other him just stands there, arms folded across his chest. One finger points back to the bed.

And, well, _him_. Tim sits gingerly on the edge, waiting.

"Cleanup isn't going to be quick, I mean, we all get that so no big deal. Now that the people of Earth are free, we can start rebuilding."

"Win." Red says tiredly, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"Totally. I recalibrated your device so the majority of your world's forces could get back. They were epic by the way. Most of them wanted to stay and help with the rebuild.”

"Natch. Superheroes do it better.”

“Heh, apparently you're an inspiration."

Red shrugs a shoulder, keeps himself from wincing. “Please tell me-"

"Nope, they, uh, insisted on staying. Well, your Bruce had to go back with the JLA, but the others are still here. Make sure you aren’t dead or our prisoner or, well, I think your N was worried about Ra's possibly kidnapping you too. Can't even blame him. Seriously."

Tim sighs, shoves a hand through his too long hair. It really would be too much to ask for that they’d all just gone and went back to their Gotham, their Cave, their lives, and left him the hell alone to go back to his. And, why the hell was it all of a sudden _too much to ask for_ anyway?

"They've been coming back to check on you—frequently. O is ready to start up with the bitch smackings. You know, brooding Bats."

And that's disturbing. Tim frowns with thought.

"I could tell," the other answers with a quirk of his lips, "classic guilt. I mean, those three are obvious, like, really. Whatever they saw in the Mind Field did a number to change their Tim Drake policy."

Tim raises a hand, wipes the whole thing away. “Nope, I am not even going to touch that mess right now.”

"Uh-hu, we are talking about this or all four of you are going to dance around everything even more than you are now. Nope. You saved my world, I am so going to save your family."

"There's nothing to save." Tim just shrugs, "I've moved on, man."

"Try again. My bullshit meter is going crazy. Besides, my Bats already gave me some deets on your world, Tim. I've kept my family together because I force them to talk about their feelings and before you ask, yes even B. It's the only way to survive this life. You need to take a page from my book and tell them exactly how they've pretty much forced you out of their lives."

_Whoa, just a minute_. "It's not like that, at all. I left too, you know. I didn't fight to stay. My call."

His counterpart actually looks pissed, "abandonment issues much?"

He just blinks, and the other guy is rolling right along.

"You're only saying what you think is the correct response when you should really be telling the truth. No one should fight to be part of a family. _That's not how it works, Tim_."

Angrily, he sneers, "my world is different. I finally started to get it. Two years, man, and I get that shit. I'm the placeholder until Dami got there. Fuck, I shouldn't have forced myself on them in the first place, but there was no other option at the time. Damn it, it's fine how it is now that I understand." Tim buries his face in his hands, "look, man. It's been a crazy few days, okay? I can't do this now. I need coffee and updates. Do me a solid here."

The shorter man isn't convinced and every muscle in his body is tight. "You just woke up from some pretty epic blood loss and exhaustion, so I'm cutting you a reprieve since I'm awesome. This, however, is not acceptable, Tim."

Great, his other self is also an epic pain in the ass.

"I am going to be a bro on this one and get you coffee even though you totally macked on my Bats but no updates."

Tim freezes, eyes suddenly wide. "They-"

Other Tim hitches a thumb at himself. "Bat therapist right here. Of course they told me. I used to be theirs until we all grew out of it, which is fine. I'm very NOT upset. Rather the opposite. You took care of them for me, gave them what they needed at the time. Good plan. Self-sacrificing, well, _maybe_ because I know how good they are in bed."

Tim coughs awkwardly because _of course his other self would **get it**_. "Uh, yeah. I owe you high fives for having some huge balls."

The shorter one arches a brow and a whole lot of _ah-ha_ is there, "ah, I see. You didn't."

"No." The voice is softer, but firm and the other Tim reads into all of it. He stands, the lines of his frame taunt.

"Coffee, then. Hang tight."

“Thanks, man.”

“…don’t. Just…just don’t, okay? You came here and bled for my world, for my brothers. This is the least I can do.”

And leaving the other Tim Drake who is so righteously, sadly _fine_ with being left is exceptionally hard, but seeing his Dick and his Jason waiting out in the hall makes it somewhat more tolerable. Both Bats look at him with the same fondness cultivated over years, and this world’s Tim Drake has to give them the same smile. He waves the two down the hallway, shooing them.

“He needs coffee and time to process.” Tim explains, “he’s—I am very not comfortable with where he is right now.” This said as they come into the main communications center, the other three Bats looking up, hopeful.

His Dick just ignores the three visitors, “meaning?”

Tim’s brows furrow, “he is—“ his eyes go to the listening other Bats, “not in a good place, Dick. I can safely say I am jumping over the _concerned_ hurdle to hit the next one up.”

Tim gets a mug down from the cabinet, pouring a full mug his Jason immediately takes.

“Spell it out, Timmy,” his Red Hood asks.

“The two of us can exist in the same universe,” he replies with a shrug, “I’ve done my homework, and he can stay here without an adverse effect to this universe or others. That’s how concerned I am, Jay.”

Robin, the shorter Damian Wayne, is a few feet from them without seeming to move. “He cannot stay here. That Timothy Drake is ours.”

And Tim arches a brow down at him, “surprising assessment coming from the child that shoved him out the door.”

Damian flinches.

“It’s not just his fault,” the other Red Hood is leaning against the counter, bare-faced and brooding. “We all got our lot to atone for with Red.”

“Understatement,” Tim replies, standing with his own cup of coffee, waving his Jason away to take the other mug to the Tim still hurting. “And probably, possibly too late to fix the damage. How long has he been kicked out of your family?”

“He hasn’t been—“ and the other Dick looks just this side of desperate.

“Of course he has,” this shorter Tim, just as methodical as theirs. “_Dick_. That guy in there? The one that chose to come here and save my world? He’s only _not_ suicidal because dying in the line of the mission is the only way to go, and believe me, that shit is going to happen eventually. It’s a matter of when. He’s had some time to talk to my brothers and they put a whole lot together about how he lives, why he didn’t think any of you would bother to show up here.” He hitches a thumb at himself, “Detective, remember? I don’t need your affirmation, I have the proof in the room down the hall.”

The other Dick still sitting at the table just stares, those blue eyes full of turmoil.

“So, since I am in essence, almost but not the same guy, let me give you the low down,” his eyes slide to his Dick, leaning with him against the counter. “Your options, are they are now, stand at, one: giving the guy up. Dig your claws out of your intel source and let someone that give a shit about him have at it. If he doesn’t want to go back, don’t fight it. Let it be. Or—“ he holds up a hand to stop the three simultaneously opening their mouths to start arguing, “—you get the full implications of what happened here and what you’ve learned about your Tim Drake. Make this shit right and _keep_ it that way. _Fight_ for him.”

And the other Jason Todd, the other Damian Wayne, the other Dick Grayson straighten in a strange cohesion, like they’d already come to that same conclusion. The Dick by his side sighs a little as he does because any hope they may have had for this other Tim Drake to stay, just ebbs away in the face of this type of determination.

**

And the Tim of the newly freed world is so very right.

Dami, Dick, Jason, and the other him are staring, their faces grim while the Bats from his universe work the device that would open up the door to their world and take them home.

And Red just looks at these Other Bats with a soft smile because Kon and his other self are holding hands, looking back at him fondly and their Titans are alive. Damian is next to T, satisfied his brother is back and his world their own, that kid can smile, can stand…

And Jason's eyes aren't green anymore but a startling blue, just like his eyes are in the portrait at the Manor, the one a young Red used to stand before after training, swearing he would do his best to make his predecessor proud.

And Dick, Dick…standing close to Jason, he has a new feel, and it's there in his face and his eyes—_hope_. That gentle softness and determination in the liquid flow of his body, in the sway of his hips when he walks, reminiscent of the acrobat, and the crinkles at the corner of his eyes when he smiles now.

Red can look them over and be satisfied with what he's accomplished here. He can smile back through the pain in his chest making it tough to breathe.

"You guys need to keep it together, okay?" He says low, "I believe in you."

T and Kon come at him, embrace him first. "Thank-you," T whispers against his shoulder, "Red, Tim. God, thank-you."

The laugh bubbles up, low and slightly pained, "hey man. It's okay. You guys, your world, it's going to be okay."

And that guy, the short one had the Titans and the Bats, and they'd keep him safe from Ra's and he'll go back to being Red someday, too.

Dami without the domino, still in his old Robin costume, holding himself tightly, is next. And his arms are shaky but so tight with his own brand of strength when they wind around Red, his face pressing in the right side of Tim's neck.

"I…am so honored to _know_ you," and his voice, Red can't keep it from that crazy kind of hoarseness when you feel too much. "I can't even tell you how proud I am to be a man that can call you brother."

And his neck is a little wet from where the kid is pressing but his own arms tighten, his hand coming up to the back of the kid's head while they both pretend he isn't crying.

"I…will strive to be a man you can always call brother," the younger finally says. "Red-"

"It's okay," he soothes even though…even though it's really not. "It's okay, Dami." The kid finally pulls his face away, staring up with those green eyes, slightly red but dry now.

"You will always have a place here, with us." The hold tightens, emphasizes his point.

"Thank-you, Dami." Because _fuck_, his eyes are getting heavy now and he has to pull away.

Then… These two, no masks, no cowls, just them, and his lenses up so they can see everything.

Jay doesn't fuck around, just steps in and grabs his neck in those big palms with thumbs pressed against his cheeks, lowers his head and presses their mouths together. And Tim melts into it, his hands grabbing at Jason's biceps, holding tight when he opens his mouth just to get a taste before they both pull back, and press their foreheads together.

"You could stay," Jason whispers holding his gaze. "They don't need you, not like we do."

"I know," Tim whispers back, "but I can't leave my team."

"They have another Robin," he counters gently, thumbs moving, making small circles.

And Tim smiles up at him, "they do, but I've got promises to keep."

And Jason sighs against his lips, hands moving down to wrap around his waist and lift him up against the warmth. Like Dami, he buries his face in Tim's neck for long moments, pressing his mouth against the beat of his pulse, squeeze his eyes shut while he holds on.

And the other Jason Todd automatically wraps his hand around the other Dick's wrist, squeezing lightly. His helmet imbibed with sensitive microphones picks up everything. And fuck, the kid… _Fuck_. His mind is going too fast with the implications, what this Hood means to Tim, what promises he's gotta come back for, and Dick looks at him without the lenses because now he feels like more of a bastard than he did after leaving the Mind Field.

_This_ is sacrifice.

And Jay finally puts him down again and with obvious reluctance, releases the hold. Right beside him, Dick without the cowl smiles down, patiently waits, never demanding something for himself, but Tim just breathes and starts to reach before he finds himself in a very familiar octopus hold, lifted off his feet again with this Batman holding him so tight, like he's something of worth.

He buries his face in Dick's neck, forcing himself to blink rapidly to try clearing out the hazy sheen while his chest hitches.

"Thank-you, Tim," Dick whispers hoarsely against his ear, head bowed over him. "Thank-you."

The small laugh is too thick, too heavy, but he manages it anyway. "I should be the one saying that, you know."

And the gentle press of kisses to his temple and forehead answers that for him. He raises his head enough to look in those eyes, ones that are hopeful now, ones that can actually see him.

And there doesn't have to be anything else because Dick gets it 'I would never leave if I didn't have to.' 'We will always be here if you ever want to come back.'

On his feet, with his body and wings hiding it, Tim's shaky hands grab one of Dick's and one of Jason's, putting their palms together between both of his.

"Take care of each other. For me, be happy."

Jason and Dick lace their fingers together and their free arms come around him, pulling him against the front of their bodies again, pressing his forehead against them both.

And the portal flares bright for a second, the indication that it will close soon.

The youngest Robin, who has remained silent and watchful clenches his fists at his sides, caught in a moment of indecision. But he takes a deep breath:

"Drake…"

Only the sudden tenseness in Reds back shows he's heard.

"Drake… _Tim_, I am calling you," Damian swallows hard, but presses on. "Will you come?"

He raises his head to look at them one last time, his heart in his eyes, and the soft acceptance in theirs before they let him go.

**

The JLA and Outlaws grabs Hood, N, and Robin, right as they step out of the portal since a whole lot of congratulating them is in order and the noise is loud with victory.

By the time Red steps through, backs are turned and he can dip behind the portal and leave the massive meeting room without even being noticed since the Titans aren’t there.

Shaky, forcing himself to be carefully blank, he makes it to the Watchtower's teleportation room, quickly typing in coordinates before stepping up on the pad. One hand braces against the wall when it feels like his body might just give out, when he loses his endless strength to keep moving, to keep the horrors of his life at bay because _what has he done? What the fuck has he done…?_

"Timmy?"

And he can't think of that voice as his Dick because that one hasn't been his in a long, long time. His free hands shoots out, lightning fast, presses the big red button to execute and send him away from here where he can hurt without an audience.

"Shit, Baby Bird, wait-!"

But he's in the perch in San Fran, the Tower, familiar surroundings, his things in a world he helped save long before today. The backpack falls to the floor and he's sure he gives the code to initiate black out, no one in or out before he stumbles to the bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom, stripping off pieces of his suit with numb fingers.

He unzips the body suit and…the Gotham Knight's shirt covers up marks from fingers and mouths. The shirt still smells like the Dick that put it over his head this morning, and the dark haired man in the mirror must be injured somehow because he's _crying_. Fuck, that guy looks like he’s taken one hell of a beating, right? Right…?

His legs lose strength and Tim Drake allows himself time to shake.

**

Two hours and civvies. Showers, Alfred food, and a brooding, energy-filled table. B is already riding that train with them. Little D was shaky as fuck when he quietly gave his report mid-meal about what he went through and saw in the Mind Field, staring at his hand while describing the two near suicides of Tim Drake, in painful detail. Jason Todd also is very not okay, especially when the whole tortured thing comes out. B listened, eyes for his sons, patting them both on the shoulders, tells them to take a few days, and he'd contact the Birds of Prey to watch over Gotham while the Bats are out.

"Where are you-" Dick starts, picking up his backpack since he’s already planned on taking the BatWing the _fuck to that Tower_.

"I'm taking the to Titan's Tower." Dick just sighs at him because, well, some minds. And B is throwing on a hoodie to go with his jeans, "Jason, Damian, you need to recuperate-"

"No fucking way, B. You're going to Baby Bird, I want in."

"I am coming as well."

Dick just motions to himself, ready to rock, arms crossed over his chest.

And B sighs, "he may take it…_badly_ if we all show."

"He may take it that we all had some realizations with this little trip in _holy shit_ land," Jason counters, already throwing his holsters and jacket on over his t-shirt.

B broods about it for another few minutes. "We assess. No rushing him." And the Dark Knight turns abruptly, leading the way for his sons to follow.

"That's why you're the best," Dick calls after him.

“And we are seriously getting that little asshole pizza, so you’d better pull over, B.” Jason insists, grabbing hold of Dami’s collar to unnecessarily drag him along.

**

Kon, however, is pretty fucking unimpressed with the civilian Batfamily showing up in the Common Room of the Tower. If this had been a _catastrophe!_ He would have deferred to the older Bats and probably been the good little mindless soldier he used to needle Red for being, but…but the four of them are just _regular people_ right now.

“Look, Blue, this ain’t some—“ Hood starts out, holding one empty hand out while the other holds the pies above his shoulder.

“Don’t care, man. You got a crime thing, fine, but if you **don’t **then I’m not bothering him, and no way are you’re getting up there otherwise.”

The sharp blue eyes of Br—Batman (wow, he is never going to be able to call that guy by his name) are assessing.

Damian’s expression is very unhappy with that answer, “I am able to fit through the vents, you know.”

Kon shrugs mildly, “good luck with the pressure traps. You might find most of them. Maybe. Red’s good like that, you know.”

“I would risk it,” Damian replies seriously, like _dead_ serious, and Kon just stares because _what the fuck?_

“He’s been locked down since he got back,” spills out of his mouth before he can figure out why he’s telling them shit, “the Tower sent a text when he got back to his Perch. He hasn’t been answering my comms, so that’s why I’m here.”

Now, there’s a whole lot of worried glances, even the _mother-fucking-Batman _looks worried.

_Holy shit, am I still in the other world or something?_ Kon’s eyes go to Jason Todd, but hey, green eyes. Okay…

“He could still be hurt,” Batman without the suit is saying to his sons, “or moving into sepsis.”

“We need to get in there, that’s the point.” Jason is saying, already eyes the vents and the stairs up to the top floor.

Damian is moving the windows, assessing the security measures. Dick Grayson going to the computer system to check the protocols for lockdown. Kon is just _staring_, his eyes moving from one Bat to the others.

“Ah… I could com him if you wanted,” but Kon has a whole lot of _feeling_ this will do nothing to the ‘break the Tower to get to Red’ plan already forming with the Batfam. “He’s probably not going to answer, but…he’ll be able to hear you.”

The four converge as a group, standing together with a purpose. Batman gives him a nod.

Kon hits the intercom and very pointedly walks to the elevator.

In turn, each of the family say their piece, keeping it short but heartfelt, wanting to say _so much more_ but not until it can be said in person.

Damian goes last, his whole body taunt, but the words come so easy, easier than he might have imaged.

“—and I…Drake, I want to be that man, the one that can also call you brother. I…am sorry I did not believe in you before. I am _sorry_ I could not take you at your word, that I did not realize…” And the kid’s voice shakes just enough for Dick to gently lay a hand to his shoulder. “This…this is why we are here, now. We have…a request of you. Only, Timothy, hear us out on this. Please…just give us this opportunity to _talk_.”

And who knows what happens in that perch or what might have been going on because in Jason Todd’s mind, he sees the whip out of his peripheral, sees himself beating up a teenage _kid_ that idolized him; Damian Wayne fears the worst, that they may be too late and the gun he’s seen in those hands has already done the job; Dick Grayson hates himself for failing his little brother so completely, letting things like his very “unbrotherly” feelings freak him out enough that he pushed the kid he’s loved for years further down the line into someone that didn’t even care if he lived or died. And Bruce Wayne, the Batman, has a mixture of all these things churning in his gut, angry that he’s failed the Robin he swore he wouldn’t, worried that this suicidal tendency may have reared up quickly, before anyone could _save_ _his_ _son_, and staunch determination that should Tim give them this chance, it would never happen to him, _to any of them_ again. He and the Batman would bust ass to make sure their family stayed together.

However, for whatever reason (maybe the Tim Drake of this world just believes this is an intel run and the bullshit is lip service to get into his perch), the gender neutral voice cuts across the room stifling in regret and renewed purpose:

“_Lock-down withdrawn_.”

The four Bats look at one another before Jason Todd picks up the pizzas and gives a nod to the stairs. With determination, something just as important as the mission, they move as a single unit to go upstairs and start the road to win back a son and a brother.

**

Epilogue: A year later.

"All right. That's the last of it."

The cadence just cuts right through his concentration and the screwdriver slips enough to snag his finger.

"Ow, fuck." He shoves the digit in his mouth, straightening up from the motherboards and circuitry in front of him. His spine emits a series of cracks as a testament to how long he's been hunched over.

The bigger hand in his vision pulls his hand up, and B looks at the finger clinically before giving it back.

"I've seen you with worse," the Bat shrugs, looking much younger in a grease stained T-shirt and sweats, dark smudges all over his face and forearms.

Tim just quirks a brow, "ditto, you know." He stands up from the workbench and turns to look at the sleek ride still up on ramps, and…damn, he is impressed.

"Wow…I still can't believe that used to be the Red Bird."

B follows a pace behind him while Tim walks around the ghost of his old work car, impressed with the new look and feel, the new design, the hard work, thought, and effort B apparently put into it.

"You can still call it the Red Bird, Tim. It's yours you know."

And, yeah. They'd had this particular conversation months ago, a topic out of nowhere when B started on about motherboards and how much he hated Nav systems.

Tim had graciously offered to reprogram the BatMobile if it got fried. B told him he was remodeling the Red Bird for his Red Robin persona, adding more toys and height (since, well, growth spurt), and Tim had just stared. When he brought the damn thing back to the Cave almost two years ago, he’d assumed B would want it for Dami, the new Robin. He’d never thought this would be a _thing_.

_“You need a work car again.”_

_“I ride the Ducati, nor do I have one with the Titans, B.”_

_“The Ducati cannot have autopilot to get you to one of us or the Cave if you get injured. You **need** a car, Tim. Also, the mass of your Titans can **fly**, I know they can get you somewhere faster than a car."_

_“_ _Oh. Ah, well—“_

_“It doesn’t have to be the Red Bird. I can build one from scratch if—“_

_“Not the issue, B. Dami—“_

_“I built the Red Bird for **you**, not for Damian.”_

_“I see. Then…I guess I’m going to wire the motherboards for it.”_

_“Glad you see reason. I would do it myself, but you would just reprogram it anyway. Might as well fix it to your specs in the first place.”_

_“Sound plan.”_

In the here and now, well, the car is a whole lot of new and old rolled up into one, and Bruce is watching his expression to make sure he’s genuinely pleased. He is.

“All right, break time you two!” Dick is in the doorway when they turn, his grin wide. “That’s enough blowing shit up before patrol. Alfred made _pizza_.” And oh yeah, there’s a whole lot of reverence in Dick’s tone because _Alfred pizza_ is next to mana (ask Cassie, she’ll totally vouch).

B arches a brow, “we blow things up for testing purposes, Dick. That’s it.”

“Uh-hu, like I would ever really believe that, Bruce.”

“You never complain when Jason does it.”

“He has special needs. Trying to be supportive here.”

“I see.” And no, he and B aren’t exchanging glances and biting their lips to not laugh. Nope, not laughing at Dick’s silly ass.

And as they follow him, still talking about the car, they aren’t laughing at his hysterical antics of flipping behind them just to goose the two into walking faster through the Cave because _Alfred pizza_ (dammit, Dick, don’t grab my ass in front of—oh, well, grabbing his ass too kind of makes that moot)_._ When they hit the main area, Jason is standing from his work bench, stretching, and Dami finishing up the last pages of the new case file, the one of which Tim will be drilling him on later when they hit the rooftops to do the leg work. They, as well, obviously got the call (and if Jason’s eyes are a little softer when they fall on him, well, he just hopes B still hasn’t noticed because wouldn’t that be _awkward,_ both older sons…?).

But Dick doesn’t stop for a second, herding the lot of them toward the big steps…when B freezes in mid-step, his head snap around, and the rest of them freeze. The charge in the air is electric, and _holy shit, get ready for whatever the fuck might be coming_ takes hold of all the Bats, the four scattering with speed and precision, with knowledge of how the others fight and where the weaknesses may be. They move as a team.

The short list slightly comes into play as Tim calculates what the hell might be happening, hands tightening on the bow with a whole lot of tricks in the other.

But…

“Fucking **_WHAT_**?”

Tumbling on the Cave floor, the four other Bats are smashing the shit out of each other.

“Get off!”

“Ow, ow, ow. God, you’re _heavy_. What the hell are you _eating_?”

“Smart ass, that’s my _bo_.”

“Don’t believe you,” in a sing-song tone.

“Robin, I want to keep my liver. Move your elbow.”

“I swear, I _cannot take you three anywhere_!” The shortest, dressed in a version of the Red Robin costume, shoves himself up through the other three bodies to get to his feet and look around.

Tim’s mouth falls open, eyes HUGE. “No. Way.”

The other Red Hood perks up from straddling a Nightwing with accents of red rather than blue. “Hey! We might have made it, Big Wing! I think that’s the same Timmers!”

“Of course we made it,” the other Red Robin is probably rolling his eyes behind that domino, “I checked the coordinates three times. This is the right place.”

Tim holds his bo out in front of him, “what was the code used to reprogram the whirlybirds?”

“Pfft,” Red crosses his arms over his chest and rattles off an impressive array of numbers.

“Correct,” Tim slowly relaxes, his bo vanishing somewhere, even in civvies. “Wow, welcome back.”

His Jason, Dami, Dick, and B relax in degrees as the Other Bats make their way across the Cave floor to greet him, pulling off dominos and helmets (that Jason’s eyes are still blue…but, well, so are _his_ Jason’s now). The three tallest pick him up like a damn stuffed animal for hugs and laughter while their Red grins up at him.

“So? How is world building?”

“The main cities are all up and running,” the other Dick with the new Nightwing costume smiles down at him and just, yeah, yeah he can see the guy is doing well. “The outlands are still somewhat problematic, but the JLA and other teams are still working on it. The world is…brighter.”

“Much of the population has been restored as the ships were mainly full of _survivors_,” old Dami is just looking down at him, surpassing even this world’s Tim Drake in height (sigh, matter of time).

“And those alien assholes are in a whole bunch of trouble with big space counsel or whatever for invading our world,” Jason adds, “so natch, they’re in some far away space prison serving out a millennia or some shit.”

And Tim, his eyes slide to his Jason, feeling the palm of the hand against the small of his back while his Dick stands a little too close to his shoulder on the other side (_please, you two, we’re not trying to give B an ulcer here, World’s Greatest Detective, remember?_ But, of course they don’t give a shit anyway) while Damian puts himself in front of Tim to listen as well. Just…just _these guys_, right?

“I hope they rot,” his Jason answers with a smirk.

The other one returns the look, “me too, guy. Fuck their mind shit.”

It’s so nice the two can share a fist bump over invading aliens and a whole lot of ass kicking. Really. Just, bonding things.

“Sir. Lunch is ready.” Alfred calls down from the top of the stairs and gets an eye full of Multi-Bats. “Hm. Seems I shall need to make more pizza. Very good then. Pepperoni and mushrooms for Master Jason, pineapple, ham, and olives for Master Timothy, Vegetables for Master Damian, and jalapenos, sausage, and tomatoes for Master Dick?”

The other Bats just _stare_, “Alfred, you are so _the man_. Doesn’t matter which universe.”

“Of course, Master Jason the second. I will begin preparations immediately. Do wash up before dinner.”

The snickers and exchanged glances are well met. B waves them on up the big steps, wanting to hear all about the rebuild effort as well as any assistance they may still need while the two Damians share a tight nod and walk side-by-side (the Robin costume closer to his Dami’s now, hooded cloak, different boots and tights), both Jasons are exchanging dead Robin jokes (_you morbid fuckers, get over it_), and his Dick pats him gently on the ass with a wink where no one but the other Dick can see. He and the other Dick Grayson have a few spare minutes with the ruckus heading upstairs.

And those eyes…Tim sighs a little, happy with the result.

“Are you okay?” The hands come up to his arms, gripping lightly. “We came back in case…they weren’t good to you. If you wanted…well, you know already.”

But he smiles widely, his eyes full of fondness and mirth. “I know,” and he reaches up, thumb swiping over that jaw, one that his hands have already memorized from a whole lot of nights and mornings. “I appreciate it, really, but we’re, ah, we’re good.”

The implications are there in the way his face heats a little, going somewhat pink at the revelation. The other Dick suddenly smiles and throws back his head to laugh with the same cadence his Dick does, and God, it’s so good to know this man can laugh like that again.

“I’m so…relieved.” When he calms a little, this Dick leans down and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Damn, I’m relieved.”

“It…I didn’t make it easy on them, you know? Any of them. My team and I might have punked them a few times in the interim.” He shrugs with a grin, “totally worth it.”

Dick turns him with a hand still on his arm, walking with him to the big stairs. “I want to hear _all_ about it. I hope you made them suffer.”

And as the two exchange an evil grin, eyes twinkling in shared mirth, the Dick and Jason from this world are waiting at the top of the steps for him, their eyes soft and warm, and just, shit, life…life is good.


	4. Destroyed Tumblr Ficlet!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked:  
_Hiya babe. I love your writing and I have a quick question just for fun if you ever get the chance. But how did the Bats react the first time they realized Ra's had an ahem, interest, in Timmy? Like was it when they were fighting together and they heard the tone? Was it all together or one at a time? Did B threaten? Did Dick ban Tim from going alone (like Tim would actually listen) did Dami try to move his grandfathers attention away? What happened? Thanks! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wondering which au I should set this in. Can’t be Dr. Tim, but I thought like, in Destroyed, what if things had gone a little differently after the big war? Like Ra’s is a total creeper before the battle and the whole Batfam heard that shit okay? And just imagine B not even thinking about leaving the multiverse world where there is a possible Ra’s that would not only kidnap Tim Drake, but keep him in a medically-induced coma.
> 
> So when Tim wakes up in the Bunker after the fight, it’s not his multiverse counterpart there–
> 
> It’s fucking **BatDad**

The seated vigilante staring him down is not conducive to _good morning Red_. There’s no _good job on coordinating a massive world uprising_, no _we made coffee and weapons, wanna check it out?_ And there sure is no sign of the other Dick, Jason, Dami, or Tim. 

_Nope_.

This B is all so familiar, right down to those steely blue eyes and brooding slouch of his eyebrows.

“Thought…you’d already be gone. Battle’s over, right?” is about all he gets out before Bruce, out of the cape and cowl, just rocking post-apocolyptic khakis and t-shirt, is moving his chair as close to Red’s bedside as humanly possible, and gives him _the_ _look_.

“I’ve had enough being _gone_ out of your life, Tim.” And the edge to that tone is one that hits him low in the spine where things like _Robin instincts_ still live (even though it almost fucking _guts him_ when the old, familiar tingles race up to the back of his neck). 

“It was fine five days ago. Suddenly it isn’t now?” He snarks back, flinging the blanket aside, ready to get up and get moving again, ready to check in with the other him and the other O, to coordinate with the other Dick and Jay and Justice League on the clean-up efforts and–

“It was never _fine_,” Bruce barely has to raise his voice unless he’s dealing with usual array of criminals or crazies. When he does, Red pauses, just enough to stare back owlishly.

“I don’t-”

“I was _trying_ to give you time to get used to being Red Robin, Leader of the Titans, and _no one’s_ sidekick anymore. Just like Dick, you needed to grow into your name. After hearing what Ra’s had to say to you, I’m _damn sure_ I’ve let it go too long.”

But Red is still _staring_, “Ra’s? _Ra’s?_ Are you seriously _fucking with me_, B?” Because does he even _know_ who else has been nipping at Red Robin’s heels for the last few months?

“I’m going to ask you one question, Tim,” and now B is giving the _not fucking around Batman_ kind of vibe. “And I expect the _truth_.”

Red blinks because _what the fucking is happening?_

“Is our Ra’s like that? Does he talk to _you_ like that?”

Something, some twitch, some minute change in his facial expression, _something_ must set off the World’s Greatest Detective because B leans back in his chair _slowly_, jaw tight with whatever plan he’s making.

“Ra’s kicked me out a fucking window, B. We’re not really that close unless I’m trying to stop his nefarious plots, or he’s trying to kill me.” Is what he goes with, using the old reliable methods to throw B’s radar off, a little bit of truth with a little bit of a lie. 

“Dick told me about that. Cass told me another story.” And Bruce’s eyes are dark and intense, staring him down like he’s trying to find all the evidence right on Tim’s face. 

“He wants me for an heir. So? He wants you for the same reason.”

“He doesn’t talk about me like he _wants me_, Tim.”

“He wants me to be an evil _bad guy_, B.”

“I don’t think you’re telling me the whole truth.”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business. I’m not your fucking Robin anymore, am I? I’m not your _responsibility._”

And that? Does not have the intended effect.

Because Bruce stands up out of his chair, staring down at his middle son and the stubborn set to Tim’s jaw, the vigilante that knows how to take a beating, the kid that flew beside him for years, the kid that didn’t _give up on him_.

Instead of turning away, instead of leaving, Bruce sits down heavily on the cot beside Red and wraps both arms around him. Careful of the injuries and bruises, seeing the white lines of scars in his mind’s eyes, he wraps up the younger vigilante baring his teeth and fighting like an animal against things like _pain_ and _I don’t have a place here anymore_. Bruce tightens his arms in the right places and just _holds on_.

And because it’s Tim, the Tim he _knows_, he’s ready for the fight, for the struggle, for the angry, harsh words, for the wet eyes, for every attempt to push him away, to keep Bruce or Dick or Jason or Damian from hurting him again. Tim pushes so hard because he can’t stand to be left again, to be abandoned.

After all this time, B finally _sees_ it, and refuses to let go.

He’s not leaving this world until his third Robin is ready to go with him, until his Robin gives him a second _chance_. He’s not leaving until he gets the truth about Ra’s.

But when he _does_ get back to Gotham, to his Cave and his connections, he’s going to have one _hell_ of a meeting with the League of Assassins.

It’s going to be a conversation Ra’s al Ghul is never going to _forget_.


	5. Destroyed What-If

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon said:  
_Tbh in the far future if u ever write a destroyed au where tim chooses to stay in the other universe and the batfam has to deal with the fact that they’ve abandoned tim so much he’d rather move universes then stay with them I will probably die on the spot and then resurrect myself to read it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little diversion from the main au ;)

His eyes said it all, _you’ll always have a place here…if you ever want to come back_.

But in that second, that _moment_ of looking into the eyes of Dick Grayson, the _other world’s Dick Grayson_, with the hands of Jason Todd still lingering on his skin under the suit, with all the promise, all the loyalty, all the acceptance there that made his heart _pound_ and his eyesight get wavery. All the things he _used to have_ and some that he’s always _wanted._

And he can’t find the strength in himself–

–to give it up.

And it’s so easy to raise up his gloved hands, to run his thumbs over the cut of Dick’s jaw, to let one hand slide down to the insignia on his chest, the one that started them all on this road, no matter the universe, the one thing that weighed them down as much as it lifted them _up_. 

It’s so easy to bring Dick down to his mouth, to make the kiss _more_ than he bargained for, _more_ than he probably deserved.

It’s not long enough, not nearly, but the awkward clearing of the throat behind them makes this Dick pull back just a little, just enough to talk against his mouth. 

And those beautiful blue eyes are so _light_ now, so _hopeful_, so beautifully crystaline. “Timmy…_Timmy_.”

The ache in Dick’s voice is the nail in his coffin, complete with Jay fitting a hand to the back of his neck, looking down at him with the same tenative _hope_.

And because Red is who he _is_, he’s someone that always has to have a plan.

He turns abruptly, facing the three Bats from his world that hung around to make sure he didn’t, you know, _die_.

(_Sometimes, it’s too little, too late._)

“Congrats Rob,” he deadpans at Dami, the younger, shorter, angrier one, “you just got promoted. Take care of the Titans for me.”

The shock is right there in Nightwing’s slack jaw and Hood’s tight shoulders since apparently they might have seen this coming.

“_Baby Bird_, think about what ‘cha _doin’_–”

“Tim, how…how _long_ are you planning on–?”

“The Titans will not work with me, Drake. They are _your_ team-”

But it all falls on deaf ears.

(And _no_, he completely does not minutely lean _back_ when he can feel them step closer, press against the back of his shoulders.)

“_Look_. I think we’re all a little passed this stage in the game,” he holds up a placating hand, “and believe me when I _say_ how much I appreciate that you all came for a potentially _world-ending_ catastrophe with dick-bag aliens. Mental mind traps are about a _bitch_. So, _thank-you_, for coming, _but _this is my call. I’m the one who makes it.”

The slight tinkling and gently glowing portal flashes blue, an indication of _closing soon_.

“_Tim_,” and Nightwing, the Dick Grayson that still hurts his fucking _heart_ to look at, sounds a little too desperate, like he’s realizing something very important is being lost right here.

“I want to help re-build the _world_,” he cuts in, “and there’s less people to do it here. Dami is going to go back and join the Titans. He’s going to be kick ass. You and Jay are going back to take care of B and do what we do best: save innocent people from baddies. I’m going to stay here and do everything I can to get the people moving again.”

With that, Tim Drake, Red Robin of their world, smiles faintly, and for a second, just enough to maybe make them _understand_, lets the mask fall away so he can relax back, can be assured the two men behind him would catch him if he faltered.

With them at his back, he can usher his world’s Bats closer to the portal, refusing any argument. Before they finally start to go, when Robin looks back at him one final time for assurance, when Nightwing gives him one, last, desperate _octopus hold_, when Hood can reach out a hand, ignore the automatic tightening all over, can palm the side of Baby Bird’s throat with the helmet off and his eyes more green than blue.

“It’s not forever,” he admits more gently when they look at him with more regret than he realistically _thought_, “but for a while? Yeah, this…this is what _I_ want.”

And when he closes it down after they step through, when his hands shake just _a little_, when the breath he’d somehow been holding could finally escape, he’s turned abruptly from the control panel and finds himself right in the middle of a very nice post-apocolypse vigilante _sandwich_.

He would hear Dami mutter about _hormones_ on his way out of the lower bunker, taking off his cape, and preparing to go upstairs to raid the stash of coffee one of the other world Titans had brought so Tim didn’t _die_ without caffeine, but Red is just a little too busy with Red Hood and _Batman_ mouthing at him and basically trying to rip his clothes off _in a nice way_.

He’s making noises when the last hatch closes and they’re alone, his chest exposed in a v-ee and more marks being made into his _skin_. Dick pulls back from his mouth long enough to release the catches in the Batsuit and pull Red’s down his arms to give them even _more_.

And eventually when he’s _writhing_ for them, moaning and moving his hips, his hands, his _mouth_, when he can’t think straight because he can’t get _enough, _he’s going to plan out how to tell them that this…this couldn’t _be_ forever. But for the moment, for right now when he can still help them start rebuilding, when he can coordinate efforts and dodge the fuck out of Ra’s al Ghul, when he can make sure the people don’t just _stop moving forward_, when he can still stick around to take care of these idiots, and get them ready for the day he’s going to _have_ to say good-bye for real.

Until then, he’s lost in the sensations filling up his senses to overload, rolling his hips in Jason’s lap with the big car’s steering wheel digging into his back because he’s arching backwards across the dash to put his body on display for them.

It’s not forever, but _fuck_ is he going to ride it out while he _can_.

**Author's Note:**

> This is still one of my favorite works so thank-you for reading.


End file.
